


Together (Larry Stylinson)

by larry_love23



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anorexia, Anorexia Recovery, Bottom Harry, BoyxBoy, Breakup, Chaptered, Declarations Of Love, Eating Disorder, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hospital, Insecurity, Louis Has An Eating Disorder, Louis and Harry - Freeform, M/M, Making Love, Modern Romance, Recovery, Romance, Self destruction, Smut, Struggling, Top Louis, anorexic louis, fan fiction, larry stylinson - Freeform, mental health, one direction - Freeform, self discovery, self help, trigger warning, triggering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 15:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 46,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14957546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larry_love23/pseuds/larry_love23
Summary: Harry and Lou meet up again two years after they ended their four year relationship. Louis claims it's a business deal he's after with Harry, but Harry can't help but wonder if there's a bigger plan at hand - and whether or not Louis is really as okay as he claims he is.Trigger warning: Eating disorders and emotional trauma





	1. Coffee

Harry's Point of View

"Hey."

It was the first time I had seen Louis in two years. The first time I had heard his voice in that long too. Two full years. It felt like an eternity. Was it really that long?

We were in a coffeeshop in Soho. He was late. He was always late to everything. I knew that. But I got here on time anyways. When he finally arrived twenty minutes later, I greeted him in the doorway, extending my long arms to give him a stiff hug. I wasn't quite sure how to touch him anymore.

It's scary how someone you used to know better than anyone can instantly turn into a stranger. Four years of dating felt like a long time. But it all came crumbling down when I decided to move to L.A. I still can't tell whether it was selfish of me to go or for him to ask me to stay. I'm still can't tell if I have regrets.

Louis' blue eyes are as bright as ever. But they were just about the only thing about him that hasn't changed. His once scruffy, toussled hair is cut short, styled into a tiny quoff where his bangs used to be. Stubble lines his angular jaw, the one I always used to stroke when I kissed him.

His style changes, however, aren't the only things that are different. Louis looks harder, angrier. There's something about the way he's standing up straight with his fists clenched up that makes him look like a tough guy. I never thought of him as someone to afraid of. But now I wasn't so sure.

Louis hugged me back, quickly patting me on the back and maintaining distance so our chests didn't touch. Then he began to remove his jacket, a dark brown town coat with black buttons. Underneath, he wore a long-sleeved, black Adidas T-shirt with black jeans, both of which looked way too big for him.

I understand that baggy was trending, but that didn't seem to be the case here. He seemed to be swimming in his clothes without even realizing it. And that's when I started to notice things... terrifying things. That he was sick.

His collar bones were jutting out wildly beneath his T-shirt, and his face, though I didn't notice initially, was pale. So were his lips. They used to be rosy, not grey. And did his face look thinner? I turned to sit down at a table before I could stare at him any further. I didn't like the looks of this... not one single bit.

"Lost weight recently?" I asked, nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow. Louis let out a choking sound, perhaps meant to be a laugh. "Probably," he said. His voice was deeper, raspier. He never could kick that cigarette habit.

"How are things going at the publishing company?" I asked, pretending to browse through the menu. Though I couldn't stop thinking about the sass in his voice. Probably. So he knows he's done this to himself?

"They're going," Louis said, toying with his lighter. It was a bright blue one. Sapphire "Gonna go order. Know what you want?" I looked at him in bewilderment. Why was he asking like this. He had been the one to invite me to coffee. He was the one who asked me to come here...

"Lattee," I said, my voice deepening. Louis nodded and headed to the counter, his white adidas sneakers looking like mountains compared to his skeletal legs. He was turned around now, and I shuddered as I looked at how flat his backside was. His bum had always been my favorite. It was gone now. And so was Louis.

"So you ran into Ken the other day, huh? Why'd you ask him to ask me to meet you here?" I asked, cocking a brow as Louis returned to his seat. He looked at me, the purple circles beneath his eyes accentuating his icy irises. "Wanted to talk about something," he said, coughing a bit towards the end of the sentence. "A business deal."

In that moment my heart sunk. Because I know I should never have expected this to be about love. I know I should never have expected this to be a romantic meeting, or even to be a 'catching up meeting.' Louis made it clear he didn't love me anymore. We had been apart for two years. We dated other people, though none of them really worked out for me. I wasn't sure who he was with now, but it was probably someone. Someone better than me.

"Alright," I said, matching his monotone. I forbade my face from expressing emotion. We both sat there, sipping quietly on our coffee, wearing our carefully crafted poker faces. If you asked me a few years ago what I thought would happen between Lou and I, I would have guessed marriage. But now, we're strangers. And perhaps soon to be business partners. Cold, formal and emotionlesss. It was like I never knew him at all.

"I know your company needs help with advertising. We're thinking of doing a fitness story. A short one like ten pages. We're honestly really tight on cash right now. A lot of clients have left us. Was wondering if you could help get us in at your place," Lou said, his lips carefully producing each syllable. Even his charming accent seemed like a distant memory, slow, short vowels replacing his usual wild and choppy way of speaking.

"Yeah, I can do that. I'll talk with the VP," I said quickly. I put my cup down. I was finished with my latee. I looked over at Lou's cup to peak inside. It was black coffee. Five calories. Of course.

"Thanks. Perfect," Louis said. He was playing with the lighter again, avoiding my eyes. "I hope you've been doing well, Harry. How's Charice?" His tone grew darker, icier. He was taunting me.

"Didn't work out with her. I've been well though, thanks for asking," I said as I wrapped a loose curl around my finger. Louis used to play with my curls. I was starting to wish I had cut them.

"That's too bad. I haven't been with anyone recently. Dated a guy named Chris, but it was shortlived. Couldn't really make myself emotionally available after me mum died," he said. Our eyes met instantly and I leaned forward, instinctively grabbing his hand. Louis jerked away a bit, but allowed my hand to stay there on top of his.

"I'm so sorry," I said, my voice cracking a bit. "I had no idea, truly." Louis nodded, staring at my hand. I pulled it away quickly and tried to think of something to say, but there wasn't anything.

"It's okay. It was a year ago. The family and I are getting through it," he said. But the look on his face said otherwise. His collarbones, his trembling fingers, the dark circles. They all said otherwise.

"Lou, I know this may sound stupid coming from me. But you've been eating, right?" I asked quietly. Suddenly, I began to feel self conscience about myself, thinking back to the endless nights Louis had to persuade me to eat just a few bites. All the time I spent at the gym and not with him. It was odd that I was the one asking if he was eating now.

"I'm eating. It's just. Harder than it used to be. With the grief and all," he said quietly. His jaw was clenched tightly now and I could tell he probably wanted to change the subject. But I couldn't let him. He was too... too lost. I wished I could help him.

"I get that. I mean, you know. I really get it. If you ever need some encouragement...." I began. But Louis cut me off. "You know, the only encouragement I could really use right now is you encouraging your boss to get on board with this deal. Okay?" he said. His voice was low, nearly a growl. I nodded, allowing him to change the subject, to subvert my attention from the fact that he was quite clearly in trouble, that he was obviously drowning in a sea demons much bigger than himself.

"Yeah, Lou. I can do that for you," I said. Lou nodded, placing his empty coffee cup down on the table with a tiny clammer. Then he got up to leave, shaking a bit as he stood up from his chair. "Let's keep in touch. I'll give you a call Monday. If not, here's my card," he said. And with that, he turned on his heel and hurried out the restaurant. When I looked out the window, he was hunched over the side of the building, taking a drag of a cigarette with a trembling hand.


	2. Fired

Louis Pov

I stared at the screen at my desk for what felt like ages, reading the words again and again. Maybe if I read them enough times they wouldn't be true anymore. But they were. It was my letter of termination. I was being fired, let go or what have you. This couldn't fucking be happening right now.

I knew I was in a bad place when they called me in for that meeting last week, saying my numbers were down, my pieces weren't selling. I knew they were making cutbacks, I knew I was fucked. But I thought I had time. I thought I had some fucking time before this all went to shit.

What was the fucking point of that meeting with Harry then? What was the point of forcing myself to show up and meet with the last person on the face of this planet I would ever want to see if he couldn't even help me keep my god damn job....? Clenching my fist, I resisted the urge to smash the computer screen before me. Everyone could go to hell.

Taking a deep breath, I got up and walked to the water cooler. My head was pounding and there was a burning pain in the pit of my stomach, maybe a remnant of the appetite I used to have. But I didn't care. Physical pain didn't phase me anymore. Neither did emotional pain. I was numb, empty.

Once at the cooler, I grabbed a paper cup and filled it up, my hand shaking as I brought it to my lips. A little bit got on my shirt and I cursed internally before marching off to the bathroom. Opening the window, a grabbed a cigarette from my pocket and lit up, taking a smooth and steady drag and blowing out the tiny screen. Some people needed fresh air to clear their heads. I needed the opposite. The cancerous black tar filled my lungs with a familiar tickle, easing my mind with a dizzying head rush. With all this smoking, maybe it wouldn't be too soon before I joined mum.

When I was finished, I closed the window and walked back to my desk. They said I had until the end of the day to get all my belongings. Well they could fuck themselves.

Taking a garbage bag from the utility closet, I began to dump my belongings in, allowing them to clash noisily into the bottom of the bag. A stapler, highlighters, cards from clients. It was all useless shit to me. One by one, I tossed items in the garbage bag, indifferent as to whether or not I ever saw those belongings again. I didn't stop until I came to the picture frame of my family: my mum, my sisters and I. I carefully tucked it under my shoulder before draping the garbage back over my back and trudging to the back of the office.

I could tell through the glass window that my boss was on a conference call, her head bobbing around as she spoke into the receiver. Laughing to myself, I thrust the door open, slamming the garbage bag onto her desk. "Here are all my belongings, Karen," I said, my voice low and raspy. "Go fuck yourself." Karen jumped back in alarm at the sound of the crash on her desk. She stared at me, her brown eyes wide. I smiled back.

"You'll be bankrupt in less than a year," I called over my shoulder as I turned around to leave the office. I slammed the door, leaving her alone with my bag of useless desk supplies. Then I was off, never to see this place again.

Time for a drink.


	3. Phone Call

Harry's Point Of View

I paced back and forth in my office, debating whether or not I should make the call. Louis had said to call him on Monday, but he never said what time. I decided on 3pm because it was in the middle of the day, not too early but not too late.

It was hard for me to believe I was back in the New York office, after all the grief I went through to go to L.A. But when they offered me an upper management position with a six month training program in New York, it was an offer I couldn't pass up. I hadn't planned on telling Louis I was back in the city. I didn't want to break his heart twice, coming back to New York temporarily only to return to California again when the training was done.

It had been nice seeing him. Well nice, but also not nice. I still can't get over how worn and sickly he looked, how bad his cigarette addiction had gotten, how he never told me his mom died. I had never for sorrier for someone in my life. It hurt just to look at him.

When he asked me to put together this business deal, claiming that his business was in trouble, I could tell something was wrong. Louis had worked at the same publishing company for years, and I've never seen him so frantic as he was that day he spoke with me in the coffee shop sipping on his 5 calorie coffee.

This had to be bad. So I did what I could. I pulled some strings and I was able to get a deal set up, though I was worried it may not have been as much as Louis wanted.

I took another pace across my office, tugging at the buttons on my suit, and then hit the call button. "Hello?" A muffled voice responded after a few rings. "Hey, Louis? It's Harry," I said, trying my best to be enthusiastic, though part of me began to sink as I realized it would probably be our last conversation together.

"What the fuck?" He mumbled. I heard laughing. Was he drunk? "It's about the deal. I was able to pull it together," I said worriedly. Louis didn't answer for a while.

"Oooooh," he finally said. "That doesn't matter anymore. I already got fired. So it's over." Wow. That was fucking awful. Louis loved his job— it was his dream job at his dream company. It was a large part of the reason he refused to go to L.A. with me.

"I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?" I asked. I felt my face grow hot and I began to nervously wrap the phone cord around my fingers. "No. You fucked me over enough," Louis said breathily. I could tell he was going to hang up, but I interjected.

"Lou. I know I did and I'm sorry. But I want to make sure you're okay. Are you safe right now? What have you had?" I asked worriedly. Louis wasn't the most responsible substance user when we were together and something told me he was even less so now.

"Just a ton of vodka. And weed. Cross faded," he said, laughing. I shook my head, my curls falling into my eyes. "Alright. Well do you mind if I stop by to check on you?" As expected, Louis responded with a very dramatic 'No.'

I frowned. Maybe it was better that we ended our interactions here. I couldn't help him with his job anymore, and he clearly wanted nothing to do with me. I should stop. I should want to stop. But deep down I was still deeply attracted to Louis. I still cared, I still loved him. And all I really wanted to do right now was fix him, help him along, make up for all that lost time. I wanted to be the supporter he had always been for me. But I knew I couldn't — I shouldn't. I had made my decision and he had made his, he was done with me.

But wait. What if I could find a way to make this interaction last longer.... what if we had a job at my company... we probably did. There were always openings for new writers.

"Lou what if I got you an interview here. You can work here until you find something else. How does that sound?" I said quickly into the receiver. I had paused for way too long and I was surprised he hadn't hung up.

"I don't take pity jobs," Louis said. He was making chewing sounds now, and I hoped and prayed he would keep his food down, though I knew all too well that he wouldn't.

"Well is you change your mind, just call me or text me. You're always welcome to work here as a writer. I'd like that, honestly," I said. That last part had been a bit much hadn't it? Cringe.

"Yeah whatever," Louis said. I heard a muffled coughing sound as he hung up on me. I just had to hope he would call me back for that job. Our future depended on it.... if we had a future at all...


	4. Painful

Louis' Pov

I was eleven shots and who knows how many hits in when I started throwing up. Who really cared though? I was 25 and living in a studio apartment I could barely afford with a job let alone without one. My mum was dead, I had hardly any friends and I was single.

This wasn't how things were supposed to turn out.

I didn't even make it to the bathroom. I just leaned over my bed and puked onto the floor, not caring where it landed. Wiping my mouth, I took a swig or Diet Coke, one of the only things that I allowed myself to consume these days aside from drugs.

I placed the bottle back on my desk and laid back in bed, the room spinning around me. I remember feeling like I wanted to hurt myself. I had thought about it five million times, but I knew mum wouldn't want that. I would be letting her down if I did that. I would be wasting my own life, my own chance to live.

But what I had wasn't much of a life anymore. I can't remember the last time I went out on the weekends. The last time I went to a restaurant. No, my nights consisted of running up and down the stairs of my apartment until a neighbor complained, and then going outside in the freezing cold and running some more. Then I would way myself. Once. Twice. Three times. Use the bathroom and try again. But the number was never low enough.

I wasn't oblivious. I'd noticed I had lost weight. I was aware that almost none of my clothes fit and that my once muscular and athletic legs were now bony tooth picks. But I didn't care. This was my way of dealing now. This was my way of feeling good, of numbing out. And I didn't want to stop.

I remember when Harry used to have an eating disorder. How I used to hold his thin, shivering body in my arms and beg him to just have a few bites. Beg him to get off the treadmill. And I could never understand why he didn't listen. But I do now. I understand better than ever. Truly.

The difference between Harry and I is that he had a reason to recover at the time. We had been dating two years when he started getting symptomatic. Someone had made a comment about his body at the gym and he just snapped. An innocent diet turned into a never-ending restriction. Lists of foods he couldn't eat anymore, ingredients I shouldn't use anymore. Hours and hours spent running or at the gym.

The only reason he got better was because of me. And his sister Gemma. We loved him. We took him to the doctor, we encouraged him. And finally, nearly a year later, he was on the road to recovery, getting stronger by the day. Pushing forward.

That was never going to be me though. I didn't have a Gemma or a Louis to stand by my side. And even if I did, I would push them away. My illness wasn't an accident. I deserved this. I needed this. I wanted this.

If I could play God, I would have made it me in the hospital bed. If I could change the past, I would have made it me who got the cancer — I would have made it me who passed away. Because it was me who deserved to die. Not mother. Never ever mother.

I was the one who had been so awful to her. I was the one who never spent any time with her, who moved away and left her behind in England to pursue "my dream career in New York." I was the one who told her I hated her when she asked me to come for holiday. I was the one who chose to spend Christmases with Harry instead of the family.

I was the one who deserved to die. And every single god damn die I wished it was me, I wished it wasn't her. I wished that I could just undo all of it, bring her back and make things right again.

But I couldn't.

Rolling over on my bed, I pressed on my stomach, which was aching now — from hunger or the alcohol I wasn't sure. My eyes began to flutter and I felt sleep coming. But all I could think before doZing off was: I hope I don't wake up.


	5. Help

Harry's POV

As I stood in the corridor outside of Apartment 2C, I felt rather fucking terrified about what was about to happen. I knew I shouldn't be here. I knew it was probably an awful mistake. But I would be damned if something went seriously wrong and I didn't at least investigate it and check in on things.

I knocked on the door but there was no answer. Maybe Chris had given me the wrong address. I knocked again and heard something. A clunking noise, sort of far off in the distance. I wished there was a way to look inside.

A waited a few more minutes before knocking again. This time it was met with silence. Shaking my head, I began to walk away, but then I looked down and found a doormat, worn and frayed. It was nearly unnoticeable as it blended in to the grayish color of the tile floor, and the text on the mat was pretty much unreadable. But I would have recognized that mat anywhere. The dulling letters spelled out a snarky but familiar phrase: "Leave your feelings outside." 

I smiled as I bent down and studied the doormat, a gift I had given to Louis nearly 4 years ago. I'm surprise he still kept it. Maybe he didn't hate me as much as he was acting like he did, or maybe he did hate me that much and he simply didn't feel like buying a new doormat.

A scuttling sound startled me and send me reeling from my position kneeling on the floor. I jumped up just in time to make eye contact with Louis as he swung the door open, muttering something about hearing a noise outside.

"Fuck. Louis. Sorry to just show up like this. But I was a bit concerned. Chris gave me your address. Are you okay?" I stammered, eyeing him up and down. Lou's tiny body was draped in a baggy black tank top and a pair of way too big sweatpants, his skeletal arms tightly glued to his sides. Sweat traced his brow line and bloodshot eyes stared back at me from underneath his disheveled hair, which was falling every which way. He looked an absolute mess, but even still, I couldn't think of a person more beautiful.

"Get the Fuck off my property, Harry," he said. His spoke slowly and in a low tone. He wasn't slurring but it was clear he was putting in a lot of effort to appear sober. I knew Lou was a great talker even while drunk or high. He could fool almost anybody — even the cops a few times — but he could never fool me.

"How much have you had? Just tell me that much and I'll leave," I begged, stepping closer towards him. I put one hand in the door frame and locked eyes with him. We locked eyes and he stared me down, his face pale face darkening as he chewed on his lip. Louis had never looked so broken.

"None of your fucking business," he growled back, grabbing the door handle and beginning to slowly close the door a few inches. I wedged my foot inside the door, not allowing him to close it further. "Please tell me and I'll leave you be," I said again.

Louis shook his head and lunged towards me, shoving me backwards. He was so weak that his push barely made an impact, but he looked worn out and tired all the same. "Lou, are you, okay?" I asked. His face looked pale and he wore a blank expression, his wide eyes staring outwards into nothingness.

Shaking his head, he ran into the apartment and I followed him in, closing the door behind us. His place was tiny. Just a room with a bed and a tiny kitchen area and a toilet. He was leaning over the kitchen sink now, vomiting profusely. That's when I noticed there was vomit everywhere, all over the apartment. On the chair, on the floor next to me, next the garbage can.

"Okay," I said softly, walking over to him. All I wanted to do was comfort him and rub his back, but I knew I shouldn't. Instead, I took out my phone and dialed an ambulance. Louis was going to hate me even more after this but he was going to god damn die tonight if I didn't get him help. There's no way you can have that many substances and puke that much and still be okay in the morning.

Louis wiped his mouth and walked over to me, nearly tripping over a beer can as he faced me. "Don't call 911," he whispered. I could tell his throat hurt from all the puking, and maybe that's why he had been talking so slow before. To hide the pain.

"Lou, you're in a lot of trouble. You need your stomach pumped," I said quietly. He was standing rather close, his arms crossed and his mouth twisted into a frown. A faint trace of vomit coated his upper lip.

"Fuck you for coming here Harry," he whispered, leaning forward and grabbing his stomach. "I... I fucking hate you." I nodded, trying to pretend it didn't phase me. But we both knew it did.

"It's okay to hate me," I said, nodding. Louis was on the floor now, his knees curled up to his chest. I could tell he was in excrutiating pain and walked behind him, putting a hand on his shoulder and rubbing softly. It wasn't going to help with the pain, but it was the least I could do to comfort him. For whatever reason, he allowed it and began to fall backwards into my lap as I massaged his shoulders and cooed softly. I just kept telling him he was gonna be okay, that everything would be alright.

When the ambulance arrived, Louis had already lost conciousness and he lay silently in my arms as the paramedics helped him into the stretcher.

Tonight I was going to pray.


	6. Hospital

Louis POV

I had majorly fucked up last night. That much was clear when I woke up to the four white walls of the hospital and a worried nurse puttering next to my bed. I looked at the IV I was attached to and thought about pulling it out like they did in the movies, but if I'm being honest, I didn't have the energy.

I felt like I had been hit by a boulder. My head was pounding and my stomach stung. I knew I was on meds because of the fuzzy feeling dancing around my body, but they weren't strong enough. I still felt the pain.

I sighed to myself as I thought about how much debt I would be in after that hospital ride. I didn't have health insurance anymore since I was fired, and even if my insurance still worked, they may not cover all of it.

I wanted to punch Harry in the guts for doing this to me, but deep down I knew it wasn't worth it. I was the one who had caused all this, and he just came and picked up the pieces.

He shouldn't have intervened. I would have preferred he didn't. And I'd like to think that I would have been okay at home if he hadn't shown up, but I honestly wasn't too sure. I'll never admit it to him, but a small part of me was relieved when he showed up at my doorstep last night. Because it meant I wouldn't have to go through this alone.

But like I said, only a small part of me felt that way. The rest of me desperately wanted him to leave, wanted him to get the Fuck out so I could be alone in my misery. And that was the part of me that hated Harry, that despised Harry. Because even though he didn't know it initially, he ended up leaving me when I needed him the most.

Readjusting in my hospital bed, I felt my hand run briefly across my torso. A bony rib poked my fingers and I grimaced, realizing that they could very well keep me here longer for being underweight. Things just seemed to be snowballing.

As if reading my mind, the nurse walked over with a tray of food. "You really should eat something," she said, giving me a stern look. I looked at the plastic tray. It had saltine crackers, Jello and a cup of chicken broth. All I could stomach right now after all that vomiting.

I grabbed a plastic spoon and brought the chicken broth to my lips. The salt tasted good. It kind of reminded me of the extra salty potato chips Harry and I used to share on occasion. But that had been years ago. And I didn't eat potato chips anymore. I hardly ate anything.

"You have a visitor," the nurse said in an annoyed tone. I hadn't realized she was still in here. She pointed to the door and I could see Harry through the glass window, fidgeting with his hands as he stared at the floor.

"He's been here all night pestering," she said with an eye roll, opening the door for him. When I saw his face, Guilt swam through my stomach, and I put down my spoon as the nausea spread.

"Hey, Lou. How ya feeling?" He asked with a big smile. It suddenly felt like we had never been apart — like it was just one of those nights when I was sick and he was showering me with smiles and cuddles as I sipped on chicken soup and drank green tea.

But it wasn't one of those nights. Harry didn't love me. He pitied me. And more importantly, he felt guilty for abandoning me. This was all just a ploy to make him feel better about himself, to fix his fucked up karma. But I would not be a part of it.

"Fine, thanks," I replied in a monotone. Not that I really could speak with much emotion. My throat felt like it had just been in a knife fight with a prominent inner city gang.

"Hey... no need to talk, Lou," Harry said coming next to my hospital bed. His hair was tied back into a messy pony tail and he had dark circles under his light eyes. He was squinting a bit. He always squinted when he smiled.

"I wanted to apologize for coming over. And for calling the ambulance. I just really wanted to make sure you were okay. And I'm glad you are now," Harry began, his face becoming more and more serious with each syllable. "I called your insurance company and they are gonna cover everything since you're still on the plan for the next 30 days. This goes under emergency medicine."

I nodded, feeling relieved that I wouldn't be in financial jeopardy — at least not from this.

"So yeah. I know you probably want me out of your hair. But if you ever do need to talk just text me. I know you made it really clear that you don't want to though, so I'm gonna leave you be," Harry said. He looked at the floor as he spoke, and his shoulders were raised and tense, like they always got when he was upset.

And as I watched his green eyes well with tears and his sullen face grow dark, I could tell he was hurting. That maybe all my thoughts about him were wrong. That maybe he did miss me, maybe he did love me.

Or maybe not.

"Thanks," I whispered in response, mustering up a half smile. At this point my throat was hurting way too much so I motioned to my neck and then pointed to Harry's phone, which was sticking out of his pocket. Understanding what I wanted, he handed it to me and I opened a note and began to type.

"Thank you for showing up when you did. I know I put up a fight, but I really did appreciate your help. You probably saved my life."

I stared at the screen and thought about sending more. It was a risky move. But what more did I have to lose at this point? I had already lost my job, my friends, my dignity.

"I don't want to get you out of my hair. I'm sorry I've been hostile. I just don't know how to act around you after everything that's happened. I'm different now."

Nodding, I handed the phone back to him. He accepted with a smile, and stood awkwardly next to my bed as he read it, his long legs towering over my tiny, seated body.

Harry read for a few seconds, furrowing his brows together, and then nodded. "You're welcome, Lou. And it's okay. I'm different too. I understand why you're upset with me," Harry replied, slowly.

We locked eyes and I wished I could tell him that I' wasn't not upset, that I just wanted things to go back to the way they were. That I wanted it to be just me and him in our little flat with our movies and our TV dinners and our cuddle sessions. That I wanted things to be alright between us.

A look can say a million words and perhaps mine did that day. Or perhaps it was the drugs. But I distinctly remember Harry kneeling down next to my bed, wrapping his hands around the metal safety bar, and whispering: "Me too."


	7. Support

Harry's Point of View

"How ya feeling?" I asked Louis as I entered the hospital room. It was his third day in the hospital. He was out of intensive care, but was still being monitored because of his low weight and vitals.

The doctors were worried that Louis would starve himself further if they let him go now because he couldn't eat normally for a few days due to the damage in his throat. Apparently he threw up so much that part of the lining had been compromised.

To allow his throat to heal, they hooked Lou up to a feeding tube, which I could have easily told you was going to cause some serious backlash. I remember watching through the window as he tried to push the doctors away with his weak, bony arms, flailing wildly and cursing until they sedated him.

He must have pulled the god damn thing out of his nose about 3 times within the first hour, but now, he had given up, and was just lying there resting, allowing the calories to drip down his throat and into his stomach.

I'd be lying if I said it was easy for me to watch. I felt so triggered seeing him like this, so weak and frail, so resistant to food. It brought me back to my own anorexic days, when I probably would have done the same exact thing with the feeding tube, if not something more extreme. In my darkest moments, nothing was worse than gaining weight. Not even death.

Now, I looked down at a grumpy Louis, arms folded across his chest, and tried my best to keep it together. I had be the positive one now, the protector. And it was a role reversal I wasn't quite sure I was capable of.

"I've been better," Louis whispered through gritted teeth. "Just getting fat off formula over here." He made a snorting sound, maybe a laugh, and pulled the covers further up his torso.

"I know it sucks," I said, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. So far, I hadn't touched Louis since he passed out in my arms — and I hardly count that as touching. I was worried that while conscious, he wouldn't want me near him, but he had invited me to sit on the bed the other day and I figured this was okay for now.

"I'm sorry, Lou. But you'll be out soon," I added trying to keep optimistic. Louis shrugged, his bony shoulder poking out of his hospital gown. "Easy for you to say. You never had the tube," Louis grumbled, still using the whispery tone to spare his bartered throat. He was looking at his hands now, scratching at his hospital bracelet with an extended finger.

"No. But I know what it's like," I said softly. "To not want to eat." Louis looked up from his bracelet and stared at me, our eyes connecting. Lou was still a bit battered, with dark circles under his eyes and a pale hue to his skin. As I looked at him, I started to feel a knot in my stomach and fidgeted in my seat. There was a ton of distance between Our bodies but I wished there wasn't. He just looked so beautiful, even at his worst.

"You don't know what it's like, though, Harry," he responded. "This isn't about someone making fun of my body. This is about me mum dying."

He was staring at me fiercely, his eyebrows furrowed. I nodded, unsure what to say. There was silence for a long time, but Louis didn't break his stare.

"It should have been me," he whispered. The pain in his eyes was indescribable. He looked completely heartbroken, completely destroyed. Like he didn't have a reason in the world to keep going.

Lou was crying now. First small, weepy sighs but then louder sobs that sent his whole body shaking. I got up off the bed and stood next to his face, desperately wanting to comfort him but not knowing how.

"Can I... Can I hug you?" I asked quietly. Louis stopped crying for a second and stared up at me, his bloodshot eyes wide and confused. "I... um..." he stammered.

Without waiting for an answer, I bent down and slowly extended my arms. I didn't touch Louis, but I waited to see if he would come to me. Slowly, he began to place his head on my shoulder, allowing me to engulf his shaking body in my long arms.

I hardly recognized Louis' touch. His muscular, curvy body was now a skeletal shell of what it once was. And his usually thick and flowing hair felt flat and brittle beneath my fingers. My stomach lurched and I fought the urge to think about my own underweight body just a few years prior. A small part of me wondered why I couldn't go back to that weight... why I couldn't be more like Louis.

I shook my head, trying to ward off the thought and tried to refocus my attention on Louis, who was still crying, but softly now. I rubbed his back, like I used to whenever he was stressed with work or just having a lousy day.

"You're okay, Lou," I cooed. "It's okay."


	8. Mixed Feelings

Louis' Point of View

I had been in the hospital for nearly a week and I wanted to go crazy. The whole accident had happened on a Friday and Harry basically lived in the hospital for the weekend, which I found wildly inappropriate given the terms that we're on. But he said he wanted to be there for me, and I didn't have much of a choice. If I was being honest, it was kind of nice having him here, or just having someone who cared enough to stay with me in this big white death chamber. 

I hated hospitals before mum got sick, but after she fell ill, I hated them increasingly more. It was always so sad and serious. Never good news. The pitiful looks the doctors and nurses would give her. The awful diagnoses. I swore to myself I would never go to another hospital again. But here I was, hooked up to a fucking feeding tube for destroying my own throat through my very own idiocy. Bravo, Louis. Bravo.

On Monday, I told Harry he should go to work. I was feeling better (sort of) and it wasn't okay for him to miss work. I was probably going to be in here for a while, and I didn't want to hold him up. He agreed reluctantly, ensuring me he would come back and visit as soon as his shift ended.

That same day, before he left, I broke down in front of him, crying about mum. It was the first time we had touched in two years, and it was essentially me sobbing into his arms, broken and devastated. He felt the same as he always did — at least did towards the end of our relationship. Muscular, strong, stable. But I know that I didn't feel the same as I did before. Not by a long shot. The way Harry tensed up when he felt my bones, the way he looked at me with pity as I fiddled with the tube in my nose. He knew how bad it was. He knew all too well.

I didn't even care at this point about the food or the weight or any of it. I just wanted to fucking go home. To be somewhere other than this stupid hospital bed. I was going mad after watching hundreds of shows on Netflix. The nurses tried to get me to write stories or do art projects, but I didn't want to write anymore. I was fucking fired. So why should I write another word? Clearly, I wasn't good enough.

It was Friday when they finally told me I could leave, and at that point I was mentally worn out. I hardly opened my eyes anymore, and just lay there, apathetic as they took my vitals and changed the formula in the feeding tube. This was my life now.

But when they said I was being discharged, that I should be able to eat and drink normally, aside from alcohol and spicy food, I was so relieved. I couldn't wait to get that god damn thing out of nose, and to get my hands on a pack of cigarettes. I was nearly mad without them.

"That's so great, Louis," Harry said when I told him the news. I nodded, trying my best to look excited— because I was. But now it was hitting me that I was going home to no job, no friends, no family.

"Are you going to be okay? On your own?" Harry asked quietly. He was wearing his work clothes today, a pale pink button down with blue dress pants and a black belt. He looked rather charming, I will admit. I had been much more forgiving of Harry lately, maybe because he had helped save me from a dangerous situation or maybe for a deeper reason I didn't want to admit. But even though I was warming up to him, I was still very scared he would hurt me. And I didn't want to get my heart broken a second time.

"Yeah," I said with feigned confidence. "Gonna start looking for a new job." Harry nodded, but wrinkled his brow. He didn't look convinced.

"Well, we still have that opening I told you about," he said with a smile. I shook my head frantically. "Don't need your help," I replied quickly. I was getting my voice back slowly, and now it was nearly restored.

"Well. I just... Can I help you somehow?" Harry asked. His green eyes connected with my blue ones. "Harry, honestly you've helped me a ton already," I said with a smile. I meant it. Just him visiting was enough to brighten my dull, depressing day.

"I just... Are you going to be okay? Eating?" Harry whispered. He looked at me with a concerned expression, but I rolled my eyes.

"Harry I'm not your problem," I sighed, crossing my arms. "But I used to be yours," he said back, his lips quivering a bit. He was right. I did used to care for him in his darkest moments. Perhaps he was just trying to return the favor... perhaps he didn't really care about me at all.

"Haz," I said, my face reddening as I used his nickname. "Are you trying to repay me for what I did for you? Because I did that then because I loved you...."

Harry shook his head, curls flying as he interrupted me. "No. I just care about you. And I'd like to show you that. I never stopped caring," he replied. He stepped towards me, perhaps to touch me, but stopped.

My stomach lurched as I thought about what he said. It was too much. Everything was too much. He left me. He fucking left me and never called once. Not once. He did stop caring.... he certainly did.

"Harry you should go," I said, shaking my head. He nodded, turning towards the door. "I'm sorry," he said from the doorway.

The door shut and I heard his footsteps down the hall. I should have been relieved, but all I could think was: when is he coming back?


	9. The Ride Home

Harry's Point of View

"Hey, I know you told me to leave, but I was wondering if you needed a ride home," I said. Lou and I were in the hospital lobby now, and he was wearing jeans and a T-shirt with a jacket over it. I had brought him his clothes from the apartment, which he said I didn't have to do. But of course I did. How else would he get home in a hospital gown?

"I can call an Uber," Lou said, looking at his feet. I shook my head. He was really being ridiculous. "Louis, it's like a 30 minute ride. It's gonna be 20 bucks at least. Just let me drive you, it's on the way," I insisted.

He looked so cute in his puffy black down jacket. I remember helping him pick it out ages ago. It was so expensive, but I remember telling him it would last for a long time. And it did. It was a shame it was too big on him now.

Louis furrowed his brow and looked at me with reluctant eyes. He was still pale and weak. Even with a week of getting proper nutrients under his belt, he still had a long way to go. It was fucked up that I sort of felt jealous of him. He was in a place where he weighed so little he needed to gain weight... I, if anything, needed to lose it.

But I knew that was just my fucked up thoughts talking. Louis was sick and I shouldn't have been jealous of that. I locked eyes with him, mouthing "please" and waited for his response.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But it's just a ride. No coming inside or anything." I nodded quickly. "Of course!" I said, though I was sort of disappointed. I walked to the exit, which I had learned all too well during my constant visits throughout the week and Louis followed behind me, struggling to keep up with my stride.

"Sorry, mate," I said with a laugh. This is a problem we constantly had when we were dating. I always walked way too fast for his short little legs.

"It's fine. I just haven't walked in like eight days," he said sassily. My face reddened and I began to slow down, realizing he was right. I should have been more cautious.

With my adapted pace, we began to walk to the parking lot, which was nearly dark now. It was 5pm and the sun was just setting. Classic winter in New York.

I didn't use my car often in the city, as public transport was much quicker and easier. But the hospital Louis was staying in was basically on the border of Manhattan and Long Island it required some highway driving to get there.

When I spotted my car, a black Hylander, I walked towards it and Louis followed after me, opening the door and hopping into the passenger seat.

This was a new car, one I had bought in California, so he hadn't been in it. I had slept with a few girls in this car, and with Lou next to me, I was starting to feel guilty as I reimagined the dirty things that have gone on in that very passenger seat.

"Music?" I asked, starting the ignition. Louis shrugged. I decided to turn on Ed Sheeran, as I knew Lou liked him. I did too. We used to sing along and dance to his music in the apartment.

When the song came on, I watched as Louis grimaced, placing a hand over his head. Maybe the artist choice wasn't such a good idea — too many memories. I went to change it, but felt Louis swat my hand away.

"Leave it," he groaned. "The damage is done." I frowned. I didn't like to think of my song choice as damage. I was trying to be sensitive and understanding with Louis because of how tough of a time he was having, but his resistance to me was starting to become really upsetting.

Maybe I should just let go, just leave him to fight for himself. That's what he's repeatedly told me he wanted anyways. I don't know why I was sticking around. Well I do. It's because I still have feelings for him— in fact, over the past few days I've thought about moving back to New York permanently for him. But if he didn't want me in his life, I couldn't force it.

"So Kylie Jenner had a baby," I said, changing the subject. I was hoping basic celebrity drama would help break the ice. Louis had worked for a celebrity magazine a few years ago and still kept up with the trends. But he just shrugged and muttered "really?" Before sinking deeper into his seat.

The rest of the time I spent driving in silence. It didn't help that we were in bad traffic and that it was going to take closer to 50 minutes than 30. I ended up changing the music anyways, halfway through, putting on some Post Malone to change things up. I didn't want to hear anything romantic right now.

Lou was playing on his phone the whole time, avoiding me. I don't even know who he was texting, but he seemed to be texting pretty quickly.

"Who are you texting?" I asked, trying not to be too noisy. Louis shook his head. "I'm not. I'm writing," he said shortly. I didn't question it. Louis has refused to write the entire time he was in the hospital, so it was great that he was finally getting back to it now.

"Oh. That's great!" I said with a smile, rubbing my thumbs on the steering wheel as I inched towards the car in front of me. "Yeah I mean I'm just emailing a company I want to work for. It's a pitch for a magazine," he said, not looking up from his phone.

I nodded. Of course. Of course Louis couldn't just accept the offer and work at my company. Of course he was too proud — or maybe he just hated me too much. Here I was just trying to help him, but like with everything else in his life, he didn't want it.

"Louis. Honestly, if you don't want the job then don't take it. But if it's about me — just know that if you work at my company we wouldn't be anywhere near each other. The communications office is in a totally different floor," I explained.

Louis shook his head. "It's the principal Harry. It's not you," he said. But I could tell there was a deeper reason. And that it certainly had everything to do with me.

"Honestly, Lou. I just... I'm just trying to help you," I said, turning towards him. He was still looking at his phone, but his eyes were wet. I was clearly upsetting him.

"Why? Because you're guilty for leaving me?" He asked bitterly, shooting me a dirty look.

"No. I just... you're special to me. I care about you and I want to make sure you're okay, Louis. You don't have to accept my help, but it's here if you need it," I said. I was getting pretty emotional now too and I wiped my nose, trying my best to hold back tears.

"You're a fucking liar Harry. You left  
Me. You fucking left me and never called!" Louis snapped. There it was. Of course.

"I'm sorry, Louis. I know. I know I fucked up... I know it was selfish and —" I started to explain, but he didn't let me finish.

"And for what? You're back in New York now after all that heartbreak! It was all for nothing," he growled. His eyes were burning into me now, and I wanted to simultaneously kiss him and slap him.

"I'm sorry. I'm fucking sorry that I fucked up everything great we had going. And In the end they transferred me back to NY. I know I was an idiot for leaving. I know," I replied, nearly crying. I gripped the steering wheel tightly,  
My fingers turning white.

Louis looked at me, his blue eyes wide. He seemed startled, and didn't have a response for me. "Yeah, you were," he said quietly. I nodded, still sniffling. "I know. And there's no chance of ever fixing things with you. You made that clear," I replied.

Louis' face quickly turned from one of shock to one of anger, his brows creasing together. "You think you can just come back after two years and pick up where we left off? You think I was just here waiting for you?!! Fuck off," he said, laughing dryly as he cursed.

"No. I didn't think that at all. But when I see you — I can't resist," I said. I instantly regretted admitting that to him, as it would only upset him more. Why am I always such an inarticulate loser?

"Harry you're fucked up," Louis said, crossing his arms over his chest. His puffy jacket crinkled as he tensed his shoulders and I had half a mind to kiss him on the forehead. I loved pouty Lou, even if he was so damn mean to me.

"I know," I replied. "I know." And we continued to drive in silence, Lou texting and me squeezing the steering wheel harder than I should have. Every now and then I would peak over at Lou's collar bones which were peeking out of the top of his jacket, pretending I wasn't jealous. Pretending I wasn't enticed by them.

I really was fucked up.


	10. Reaching Out

Louis' Point of View

"Thanks for the ride," I said coldly to Harry after he reached my apartment. The hour long car ride we had just spent together had been anything but pleasant, and I was looking forward to getting as far away from him as possible.

In fact, it wasn't just Harry I was trying to get away from. It was everyone — anyone. I just needed to be alone, which is something I hadn't been able to do since I entered that bloody hospital. Nurses, doctors, Harry... no one could ever seem to leave me alone. Finally I'd be able to just decompress by myself.

"You're welcome," Harry replied with a tense smile. "So I guess this is it? Let me know if you need anything. Please do." I nodded, eyeing him warily as I hopped out of the car. "I will," I said through gritted teeth. I was certain I wouldn't, but this was the only way to get him to leave me in peace.

Harry nodded, his green eyes falling a little, and I closed the door, turning quickly before I could see him drive away. I had never liked goodbyes, especially with Harry.

Frowning, I began to head up to my apartment, opening the door and taking the elevator up to my floor. I fidgeted with my hands as I stood alone in the tiny elevator. After getting trapped in it two times before, I was pretty nervous. But I just didn't have the energy to walk right now.

About a minute later, the elevator dinged and it opened to my floor. After fumbling for my keys in my pocket (Harry had brought them to me), I unlocked the apartment, fully expecting to be greeted with vomit and empty bottles and beer cans. But instead, I found that my apartment was completely cleaned from top to bottom, sparkling almost.

Harry.

Harry always had been the neat freak in our apartment. I wasn't a slob, but I certainly wasn't on his level of perfection and pristine. I grimaced as I thought of the copious amounts of vomit Harry must of cleaned up for me— not to mention how long the vomit had been left sitting there. I was pretty embarrassed. The whole situation just spoke to how much of a train wreck I was.

I walked in to my room, finding that my soiled bedsheets had been replaced with new ones — I still used the same sheets from all those years ago, and Harry must have known exactly where to find the second pair. In my bottom left drawer.

Trying to shake the thought of him, I left the room and closed the door. It had only been a minute in the apartment and I was already going stir crazy. All I wanted to do was run around and burn off these calories and all these pounds I had just gained with the feeding tube.

I didn't have the energy, but that has never stopped me before. At a certain point I can just push past the pain, ignoring my bodies cries for help and forcing myself to torch calorie after calorie. It was something I did often. In fact, it was routine these days.

But as I stood there in my apartment, which had just been cleansed of my vomit, I thought about how I had destroyed my own throat — how I had destroyed my own body and landed in the hospital. And when I got there, they said I had other problems too, also caused by me. Because I wasn't eating.

Fuck. Just fuck. I couldn't do anything right. Even my form of escape was detrimental. This isn't what mum would have wouldn't — she wouldn't have wanted me to fucking kill myself because of grief. And that's not what I wanted either. I really didn't.

A lot of people say you have to hit rock bottom to realize how bad off are you. And once you do that it'll inspire you to change. For Harry, it was when Gemma and I took him to the hospital and he found out how unhealthy he was. For me, it was, well this...

Well I hoped it was this. I hoped it would end here. Because I certainly knew I never fucking wanted another feeding tube in my throat ever again.

And even more than that, I didn't want to be ill anymore. I had spent a year too many as a walking skeleton, 365 days too long without proper nutrition and constant exercise. I wasn't enjoying my life anymore, and I told myself I was grieving at first, but now it seemed to be something even deeper, extending way past the normal mourning phase. Too much time has passed for mums death to be my excuse anymore. I had to move forward now, if not for me, for mum.

So instead of lacing up my sneakers to go on a 7 mile run, I took off my converse and put them next to the door. I was going to eat something. Even If it was the last fucking thing I did today.

It turns out eating was harder than I thought. There was hardly anything in the fridge aside from some bread and a few loose eggs. I decided to make toast. Simple enough. Not too many calories. I popped the two pieces into the toaster and waited for them to toast. Then I grabbed a drink. Something with calories. That's what normal people drink, right? The only caloric drink I had aside from vodka was Ensure Plus, from the last time I briefly attempted eating again. But I was pretty sure the vile taste of the Nutrition drink was the very reason I gave up.

Sighing, I poured myself a glass of water and decided to put peanut butter on my toast for some extra protein. I hadn't eaten peanut butter in years. In fact, the jar was unopened — from a day when I nearly gave up and binged on my favorite food, but decided against it last minute. I rubbed the creamy brown substance onto my bread, allowing it to melt, and tried to convince myself I could do this.

I brought my toast to the table, the place I used to eat at before all this happened. Taking a deep breath, I put a slice to my lips and tried to take a bite, but my stomach was churning and my head was screaming and I couldn't do it.

At this point, my breathing was labored and I was shaking a bit. Was I really having a panic attack over peanut butter? I was so fucking annoyed at this that I decided to just fuck it and forced the slice into my mouth, which essentially resulted in me spitting it out immediately after. I tried again with the same result. Then I tried ripping off a small piece. I put it on my tongue and chewed it gently. I tried another, then another. I continued until both pieces were gone, which took nearly a half hour and ended with me sitting in a pool of sweat and tears in front of the empty plate.

The minute I looked at the empty plate and felt the fullness in my stomach, I immediately wanted to purge. I ran to the bathroom, but told myself I couldn't do this again. My throat was going to get more fucked up. So I took a deep breath, shook my head, and exited the bathroom, grabbing a cigarette to calm my nerves. I stood by the window, smoking, and tried not to cry when I realized how fucked up I was. Honestly, I was worse than Harry had ever been.

When I finished my cigarette, I didn't know what to do. I couldn't lie down or sit or do anything without thinking about purging. It was ironic how all I wanted to do was be alone, but now that I was alone, the solitude was killing me. I didn't want to be by myself with my thoughts anymore. I needed someone — anyone to help me. Anyone but Harry of course.

So, taking another deep breath and mustering up all the courage I could gather, I picked up the phone and called the only person I knew could distract me in a time like this — or at least who used to be able to.

Zayn was an old friend from uni. we went to NYU together and became friends when we both joined the music club second year. Zayn liked pop rock and I liked pop punk, so it was sort of the perfect match. We did a few duets together and even performed with a band a few times. Some of my best memories are with him.

Sadly, I lost touch over with Zayn over the past few years when I stopped going out and started starving. Zayn went to mums funeral and he tried to be supportive. He continuously tried to encourage me to get out of the house, or at least hang out in my apartment and watch a movie. But by the end, I wasn't even able to do that, and Zayn slowly stopped reaching out because I had rejected him too many times. As of right now, we were hardly speaking, and it was mostly my fault. I didn't even remember his birthday this year.

"Louis, I'm trying to do everything I can to help you. But I can't. You have to help yourself," he had told me the last time I saw him a year and a half ago. "Take some time. Reach out when you're ready. I can't stand to see you like this anymore."

As I circled the apartment, attempting to avoid the bathroom, I figured now was as good a time as any to reach out. I hadn't helped myself yet, but I had just made the decision to start doing it. And that had to be something.


	11. Tension

Louis'. POV

"Hey."

Zayn standing in my doorway felt sort of surreal. So much had changed about him since I last saw him — his hair color, his style, his demeanor. Even his voice was a tiny bit different than I had been. The only familiar thing about him was his eyes, the soft brown orbs that always made the girls swoon in university.

"Hey," I replied, wondering if my own voice sounded different since the last time we talked. It probably did, especially after all the damage I'd done to my throat this past week. Who was I to judge Zayn for changing? Everything about me was changed too — and not in a good way.

"Thanks for coming," I continued, motioning for Zayn to come inside. Our eyes locked and I felt some of my anxiety begin to fade, memories of late nights out at the bars and duet practices filling my head and replacing the ever present calorie and exercise obsessions.

"Dude, you look..." Zayn said, cocking an eyebrow as he followed me inside. He didn't have to say it. I knew I looked awful. I wasn't even trying to hide it — I was wearing a baggy tank top that exposed my skeletal arms and collar bones, and sweats that hung off my frail frame. Dark circles lined the area beneath my eyes and my stubble was nearly a beard after weeks of not having the energy to shave.

"I know," I said, laughing nervously. "I've been better. I was in the hospital for the past week." Zayn nodded, deciding not to question it. Instead, he walked towards me with his arms extended and hugged me. But not in the fun-loving, passionate way used to — where he squeezed me as if he were trying to turn me to putty. This hug was simply polite. Cold, lifeless. Kind of like me.

After our short embarace, I took a seat at the table and Zayn followed after me. We used to sit here for hours, talking about music and sex and love or writing song lyrics into the wee hours of the morning. I felt nauseous as I realized that now we had hardly anything to talk about.

"How have you been?" I asked. I was trying to be friendly, trying to pretend all those months hadn't gone by. That we could just pick up where we left off. Zayn shrugged. "Got a new job. Moved to Brooklyn. Got engaged...." he said, a huge smile spreading across his face.

"Engaged. By god, that's great!" I said, leaning forward and slapping him on the back excitedly. Zayn giggled, and I recognized his goofy smile, the one he used to make when we messed up lyrics or showed up late to the lecture hall. Maybe we weren't total strangers after all...

"What's she like?" I asked, curious to know what lucky gal was worthy of becoming Mrs. Malik.

Zayn blushed, probably unprepared to talk about this with me. But he had offered. "Well, her name is Gina. She's from New Jersey. Very Italian. She's a makeup artist— we met on set when I was shooting a music video. Super sweet and funny. And she just gets me. We moved in together after only 6 months and it's been amazing. She's the most amazing cook, and I do the dishes pretty well, so it works out," Zayn said. The entire time he described her, his eyes were shining and he couldn't stop beaming. She must have truly been special.

I nodded, trying not to let sadness take over as I realized the last time I felt that way about anyone was Harry... about how I truly thought if I married anyone it would be Harry. Those days were over now.

"That's awesome. She sounds amazing," I said. "So happy for you!" Zayn nodded in response. "Thanks, mate," he replied, still beaming. "So how have you been? Why were you in the hospital?"

Not prepared to disclose my full story with Zayn, I started to turn red. What was I going to tell him? That I drank myself silly and ended up in the hospital? That was so embarrassing.

But this was Zayn we were talking about and separation or not, we were still close friends. Weren't we?

Taking a deep breath, I decided to tell him the truth, even if it meant extreme judgment. "Honestly, Ive only gotten worse since we stopped talking. I stopped eating... and that's why I'm like this," I said quietly, motioning to my disgusting body. "And... things got rough and I lost my job last week. Drank too much, and long story short, ended up in the hospital." 

Zayn nodded, not saying anything for a while. Then, he turned to me, patting me on the back with an extended hand. "I'm sorry that happened Lou. You know you could have called me right?" He said with a concerned look.

"I know," I replied. "But oddly enough Harry's the one who called the ambulance. He found me all fucked up...."

Zayn's eyes widened at the mention of Harry. He obviously thought he was still in California and that he was still out of the picture. I kind of wished that were still true.

"Are you guys... back together?" zayn asked, putting his two index fingers together to motion the act of getting back together. I grimaced, shaking my head.

"No, no, no," I replied. "He's back in New York because of a job relocation. Ironically enough. I got in touch with him to see if making a deal with his company could help me save my job. But, well, that didn't work out. I still got fired. And the ding bat just showed up to my house unexpectedly when he found out I was fired — thinking I was in trouble. Which, he guessed right, but it's just another way of weasling into my life...."

The more I thought about the situation, the more fucked up it felt. Why had Harry even come to my house to play babysitter? That wasn't his place at all...

"Basically he called 911 and then visited me in the hospital every day for the week I was there... um... my throat was really badly damaged from the vomiting. And purging. So yeah. I couldn't eat and got a feeding tube. It was really awful..."

I couldn't believe I was rambling like this but now that I had started, it felt impossible to stop. I hadn't had a deep talk with anyone in ages. I needed this.

"I was kind of mad harry was there, but at the same time, it was nice to have someone. And it seemed like he wanted romance... and he said he still cares about me, but I can't trust him after what he did...."

Zayn was watching me intently as I told the story, his eyebrows furrowed. He looked like he wanted to interrupt me, but didn't. I took the opportunity to continue talking.

"I just...I would want him back. If I knew I could trust him. But I can't. And even worse than that Zayn, this whole hospital thing made me realize how sick I am... like they took my vitals and they were awful.... just like Harry's when he was sick. And I'm basically dying. Wasting my life away by purposely starving myself. Fucking letting mum down even more...."

At this point I was starting to cry. My voice was cracking and tears were starting to stream down my cheeks. Zayn responded by standing up and walking next to me, opening his arms. I hopped off the chair and collapsed into them, sobbing profusely.

"Shhh. It's okay. It's okay to feel this way," Zayn said, petting my hair softly. The last time he had done this was when I found out mum died. We were actually performing at a gig together when I got the call. And I just remember after the show getting the voicemail and collapsing into Zayn's arms like the world had ended. Because it had for me, in that moment.

Now, here we were, months later, doing the same thing but for different reasons. "You're not letting her down, Lou. You're gonna work to get better right?" Zayn said, continuing to pet my hair.

Sniffling, I looked up at him, our eyes connecting once again. "I am. But it's so fucking hard, Z," I choked. "Like It just took me 30 minutes to eat toast with peanut butter and I came so close to purging it. That's why I called you...."

Zayn raised his eyebrows in alarm and nodded. "Okay," he said calmly. "Well you remember how you helped Harry, right? You don't have to go through it alone. You can get a therapist and a nutritionist. And a doctor. Well get you help, Lou."

I nodded. Harry did have the help of a therapist, nutritionist and doctor. But he also had me. And Gemma. Even with professional help, I wasn't sure I could do it on my own and stay accountable — especially since I lived alone. I still needed social support.

"Lou... what's wrong?" Zayn asked, waving his hands at me as I began to snap out of my tranced out state. "Sorry," I muttered, still clinging to Zayn's chest. "I was just thinking that I can go see them, i just don't know if I'll be able to keep myself accountable living alone and all."

Zayn nodded, rubbing my back softly and then let out a sigh. "I can help you Lou. I mean honestly I'm really busy with work and wedding planning, but you're my best mate and I can check up on you and face time you as much as I can," he said with a smile. My face fell when he mentioned wedding planning. Zayn used to talk about making me his best man for ages, but I guess I wasn't even part of the wedding now.

"Who's your best man?" I asked, point blank. I was so emotional I didn't even care about having a filter anymore.

"Oh, um. Liam," he said, flatly, avoiding my gaze. I pulled away from his hug, glaring at him. "Okay, I guess I get it," I said, staring him down.

"Lou, don't be like this. You know it's complicated. We haven't spoken in so long, I wasn't sure you'd still want to..." He began, shooting me a guilty look. "Of course I'd want to. But I guess it makes sense not to ask the deranged, depressed, anorexic freak," I snapped, kicking the chair next to me. Fuck this bitch.

"Louis, calm down," Zayn said, steadying the chair and blocking me from kicking it further. "I'm sorry I didn't ask you. I know you're upset, I know you've been through a lot. I thought the pressure of a wedding would just stress you out more ... and make you miss Harry more..."

"I don't fucking miss Harry," I interrupted. "Why is it always about Harry?" Zayn was staring at me now, pity exuding from his sorrowful look. "Honestly, Lou. You're upsetting me," he said, taking a step back.

Suddenly, I began to realize how rude I was being — I had just invited Zayn here to ask for help, after a year of ignoring him, and now I was treating him like garbage and screaming in his face. I was such a child.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice cracking. "I really am sorry. I just got so emotional...."

Zayn nodded. "I understand. It's okay," he replied quietly. "I know it's not your fault you're having these outbursts. But I have feelings too. And honestly, I think the person who can help you best is... well..."

He didn't have to say it. We both knew he meant Harry.

I stared at Zayn and began to shake my head. But deep down I knew he was right. Harry was the only one who could help me. He was the only one who had been through it and came out on top. He was my only hope.

"Think about it," Zayn said, walking towards the door. "I'm gonna go. I'll text you therapist recommendations tomorrow. You can start by sending me a photo of your breakfast. See you later."

And with that he left the apartment, closing the door quietly behind him as he exited the building.


	12. Best Mates

"Hey, Niall, you know you're my best friend, right?" I was currently at an Irish pub in East Village, hanging out with my long time buddy — and favorite Irishmen — my first ever roommate who I lived with when I first moved to New York. At this point in the night, was safe to say I had lost track of my drinks, and so had he.

"Me too mate. You're back in NY now. LA can't keep us a party," He replied, patting me on the back. I giggled as I inspected Niall's dark hair, which he used to bleach regularly. He looked so different now, more serious. Or maybe less serious. I was too drunk to tell.

"Remember when you did a keg stand at that one party," I snickered, elbowing Niall in the side. Niall laughed, and elbowed me back, nearly spilling both our pints.

"Of course I fucking remember. And you tried and you ended up puking," he giggled. That's not exactly how I remembered it, but I wasn't about to correct him. We were having too much fun.

"Woops," I giggled. "I guess I couldn't hold my liquor, just like you couldn't on St. Patty's Day." Niall shot me a dirty look but then burst out laughing once again. That had been a particularly hilarious day. We had both only been in New York for maybe a month at that point and ended up going to the St. Patrick's day parade and getting hammered. After watching the floats and performers pass by, we spent the rest of the day wandering the streets of New York and going the wrong way on the subway until we reached Coney Island, an amusement park at the last stop of Brooklyn.

Niall and I stupidly thought it would be a good idea to go on a roller coaster that went upside down. Needless to say, it was a pretty nauseating experience. But I somehow managed to hold my puke until the ride ended. Niall actually vomited on the ride, while we were upside down. And it got all over him and the people behind him. It was fucking hilarious.

"Oh my god. Those were the days," Niall said with a grin. "Minus the puking of course. But it's great to have you back lad. You know, here in NYC. I missed ya." 

"Yeah, I just wish Lou could see it that way. Like I know LA was a mistake. I know I abandoned him. I just... really needed that job. I was gonna get promoted manager without going to business school— which never happens. And I just... it felt right. But it was wrong, ya know. I got the money. I got the power. But I lost the most important thing in my life...." I started to blush as I began to realize I had shared too much. Niall was here to have a good time, not be my therapist.

"Hey," Niall said, bringing me in for a hug. "It's never too late to tell him how you feel. Is he single?"

Niall was sort of crushing me with his hug so I patted his back and then quickly began to pull away, grabbing my pint and chugging. I needed more alcohol to talk about this.

"He is. But he's really messed up. His mom died last year and he's been depressed. And he stopped eating," I said, avoiding eye contact. Suddenly I was starting to feel sober.

"Oh, that's awful. Poor lad," Niall said, his face falling. Fuck, I really was ruining this night out.

"Yeah, so I feel like I owe it to him to help him get better, ya know? The way he did with me..." I continued. As much as I wanted to change the subject back to drinking and puking and what girls Niall was chasing, I couldn't resist sharing about my situation with Louis. It was really cathartic.

"Oh. Yea. Well are ya doing it because you think you owe him or because you still love him?" Niall asked, taking another swig of his pint. I grabbed mine and chugged the remains until it was empty.

"Both," I said, shrugging. "I do... love him. He just is very upset with me still and doesn't want me to hurt him again and I can't promise him I won't. Im a bad person, Ni."

"No you ain't," Niall said, hopping up and grabbing our empty pints. "I'll be right back, gonna get some pickle backs."

I started to giggled, thinking about the last time Niall and I had done pickle backs. I was technically still anorexic at the time, but I was starting to get better and was going out more. My tolerance had dropped significantly though, and I remember Niall and I did four rounds of pickle backs, which ultimately resulted in me trying to dance on the bar table. I succeeded, but only for a few minutes before Niall pulled me down and got up to dance himself.

"Here we are," Niall said a few minutes later. He set the shots on the table and we both grabbed one, tossing our head backs and swalllowing quickly. I grabbed the pickle juice after, swigging it down as a chaser. It was the best combination of bitterness and saltiness.

"Fuck yeah!" Niall said, laughing. "But yeah, it wasn't like.... you're not a bad person. Just talk to him. Tell him how you feel. You don't owe him anything. But if you love him, tell him. It can't hurt. If he says no, you'll be in the same boat as you are now. There's nothing to lose."

I nodded, standing up and wobbling towards Niall to give him a hug. "You're so right, mate. Bring it in here. Best advice giver ever," I said, pulling him into a classic Harry Styles bear hug.

Then I skipped off across the sticky bar room floor to get us another drink.


	13. Decisions

Louis' Point of View

After Zayn left, I pretty much spent the rest of the day crying in my bed. I felt so fucking stupid for inviting him here after all this time, and even more stupid for insulting him and scaring him so badly that he left. It didn't help that I still felt disgusting from eating the peanut butter toast, and that a small part of me, deep down -- very, very deep down -- sort of missed Harry's company. 

I was such a hot fucking mess.

I ended up crying so long and so hard that it made me exhausted, and I fell asleep even though it was only something like 6pm. I woke up hours later at 2 in the morning, my face puffy and tiny red dots under my eyes where I broke blood vessels. A few minutes later, as I inspected them in the bathroom mirror, I resisted the urge to look at the toilet. It would just trigger me more and I didn't want that. 

Instead, I watched my face in the tiny ceramic sink, wiped it dry with a towel and poured myself a glass of water. If I couldn't eat, the least I could do was stay hydrated, right? Taking the water with me, I headed to the kitchen and took a seat, wincing as I looked at the empty one next to me where Zayn had been sitting only a few hours ago. A few hours before I scared him away.... 

I tried to repress the memory of the day's events as I sipped the water, instead focusing on the cool liquid sliding down my battered throat. In the silent apartment with nothing else to think about, I could suddenly feel how raw it was, how badly it burned. I guess I had been on pain meds in the hospital. Or maybe I was just too anxious to notice it. But now I did, and it was more uncomfortable than I'd like to admit. 

I began to check my phone as I continued sipping on the water. I didn't have many notifications, but that wasn't a shock. I hardly spoke to anyone anymore, and it was my fault. It was me, it was always me. I was the one who pushed them all away. Honestly, I was probably even the one who pushed Harry away.....

Sighing, I opened my Whatsapp and noticed I actually did have a few messages, they were just taking a while to load. Two were from my sister, Fizzy. "How are you Lou? We miss you! xoxo" she wrote. That was from a few days ago. I started to feel bad because I had been on my phone the whole time, but I hadn't seen it. Just another example of me fucking up. 

The next text was from today -- well yesterday -- and it read: "haven't heard from you! Please let us know how things are going. Love you :)" I quickly typed her back: "I'm good, Fiz. Thanks for reaching out. Hit a rough patch at work but all will be well soon. How are you?"

I snorted as I wrote it. Rough patch was a fucking understatement. Speaking of which, I should probably get on that whole job application thing so I don't get kicked out of my apartment for not paying rent. I hopped out of my chair and went to fetch my laptop, quickly returning it to the kitchen table and powering it up. 

As I sat staring at the blank screen of my way-too-old PC, I started to feel a strange feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. It started out small, almost imperceptible. But as I began to log onto my computer and open a new tab, it became more and more intense. It was like pain -- but not entirely pain. It was also a weird kind of sinking feeling. 

Suddenly, in the midst of the weird sensation, I heard a noise, and nearly jumped, thinking someone was breaking into my apartment or something. But that's when I realized it was coming from me.

Holy fuck. It was hunger. 

I couldn't even remember the last time I was really, truly hungry. I denied my body food for so long that my hunger cues were pretty much nonexistence, and I just ignored any discomfort or sensation I could still feel. Once and a while I would get these really bad sharp cramps that would send me doubling over in pain. But most times my stomach just felt numb, and I didn't think much of it.

I remember a few years ago thinking how insane it was that someone could lose the feeling of hunger. "How is that even possible?" I remember asking Zayn after finding out about the concept during one of Harry's doctor's appointments. But now it was happening to me. Fuck.

I guess eating normally for a week with that feeding tube had put my body on a schedule, and now it was sort of starting to become healthy again. And that should be a good thing , right? Wrong. In theory, yes. I should be really happy. I should be ecstatic. But in reality, I just couldn't handle it -- and I became more overwhelmed with every second that passed, with the weird unfamiliar hungry feeling creeping around in my stomach. 

Another reason I was feeling weird about this was because, well, food. And eating. I didn't want to fucking eat. Like that was the whole reason I was in this mess. And hunger was just going make it harder to starve, which was good-- in theory! But bad for me mentally. Because every time I skipped a meal or lost a pound, I felt better. I felt stronger. I felt more in control. I couldn't lose that high... because if I did, I would just come crashing down into a world of merciless pain. 

But I had already done that, hadn't I? I was already in that world of pain. I was dying for God's sake. So I had to fucking push past this and start eating again, even if it felt like the hardest thing in the world. 

"You don't have to start eating tons and tons of food right away. Start small. As much as you can handle. Anything is progress," I remember telling Harry one day when he was just starting out with recovery. He had been crying over an orange, saying it was too big and had too many calories. I couldn't see why the orange was so upsetting to him then, but I could now. It was never about the actual food. 

But the advice I had given to Harry that day was right. Start small. And I had already started with the toast. I got the ball rolling. I just had to keep going. Taking a deep breath, I stood up and began to fiddle around through the pantry. I hardly had any food, partially because I hadn't been home for a while, but mostly because I never really kept much food around.

After going through a few cabinets, I finally found some Cliff Bars, another result of my futile attempt to get my diet back on track a few months ago. They were chocolate chip flavored, which used to be my favorite. I turned over the nutrition label, though it didn't really help since I had memorized everything, and pulled a bar out of the box. Then, I set it on the table and prepared myself for the next painful half hour it would take for me to get the bar down. 

Before I even opened the wrapper, my phone buzzed and I got a text. It was 3am at this point, so I was wondering who the fuck would be texting. I figured it was Fizzy because she was in a different time zone and it was morning there. But it wasn't her.

It was Harry.

"Hey. Can you meet tomorrow at 5pm? Dave's Coffee in West Village. Really need to talk," I read the text over a few times, looking for spelling errors. There were none, but I was definitely not convinced he was sober. Shaking my head, I began to type a reply. A simple yes or no answer had never been so hard. 

Who knows how long I sat there thinking, contemplating if Harry deserved a second chance -- a millionth chance really. Or who knew what he even wanted to talk about in the first place. As I thought about Harry, the words of Zayn rang in my head, filling me with guilt.

"And honestly, I think the person who can help you the best is... well...."

Fuck it. Just fuck it. He was right. I should ask Harry for help. Even though the thought of putting my trust in him for anything terrified me. Even though I hated him. Even though I loved him.

Hands shaking, I gripped my phone and typed out a text. "Okay. I need to talk too." Then I tossed my phone on the counter, tears flowing as I began to tackle the granola bar.


	14. Trust

Harry's POV

Lou was late again. I didn't mind. I had been a little bit late too. Last night, Niall and I had drank way too much, and consequently I slept in until 3pm. When I woke up on the floor of Niall's apartment, I panicked when I realized I only had two hours to make it back uptown to my apartment and then downtown to get to the coffee shop.

"Fuck," I groaned to Niall and I searched for my clothes. I guess drunk Harry had decided it was best to spend the night in his underwear. "I'm so dizzy and nauseous."

Niall groaned in agreement. "Same, mate," he said, pretending to vomit. "I think we puked enough last night, but I feel like I might vomit more." I shot him a worried look as I tugged on my jeans. "Please don't," I said. I jogged to the kitchen and returned with a Gatorade, tossing it to Niall before I headed out.

"Text me about how it went," Niall called after me. "I will. See you!" I called back. Then I jogged out of the apartment, trying to ignore my churning stomach as I headed to the subway.

Now, as I sat in the coffee shop sipping on a green tea, I was wishing I had taken some aspirin before I came here. My head was throbbing and felt foggy, causing my thoughts to jumble. I was hoping I would still be able to communicate my thoughts to Louis. To let him know how I felt.

"Hey, sorry I'm late," Louis called from the doorway a few minutes later. He waved and started walking in my direction, taking a seat across from me at the tiny white table. He looked a lot better since the last time I saw him. He had shaved and combed his hair, and he still looked pale, but not quite as much.

He was wearing a baggy grey jumper and jeans that were probably skinny at a time but looked more baggy than anything now. I watched intently as he situated himself at the table, carefully setting his wallet, phone and keys on the table.

"Hey, that's okay. Good to see you. How are you feeling?" I asked slowly, hoping he wouldn't be offended that I was asking about his health. It seemed like an appropriate enough question to ask. After all, he had just been in the hospital.

"Oh. Better...ish," Louis said, his eyes shifting away from me. "My throat actually really hurts. But I've been feeling better overall now that I'm home. Thanks for cleaning the apartment, by the way. You didn't have to."

I nodded, blushing a bit as I remembered how I had diligently cleaned and discarded the vomit that was strewn about various locations in Louis' apartment. "Don't worry about it," I said, rubbing my neck nervously. "Glad you feel better."

Louis nodded. It was hard to read him right now. He wasn't as cold as he had been on that car ride home, but he still didn't seem thrilled to see me. I guess I couldn't blame him, given our history.

"Let me grab a drink," he said quickly, hopping up and going to get one. He made it half way to the counter, when he turned around and came back. I thought maybe he had forgotten his wallet, but it was no longer on the table.

"Hey. Harry... I um. I'm going to get something to eat too," he said quietly. He was making eye contact now, his blue eyes wide and staring at me almost expectantly. What did he want me to say? Oh...

"That's awesome," I said, nodding encouragingly. "Do you... you want me to get something too? We can eat together, yeah?"

Louis nodded slowly, and motioned for me to follow him, his tiny hand waving. I hopped up and hurried after him, suddenly remembering how nauseous I felt. The last thing in the world I wanted to do right now was eat. But I wanted to do this for Louis. This was a really big step for him.

"Can I get a lattee and a croissant please?" Louis asked the barista. I tried to hide my surprise as I noticed Louis was getting a drink with calories. The last time we had gotten coffee he got the Americano. 5 calories.

"Croissant please," I said as the next register opened up. Louis and I both paid for our things and then headed to the counter to wait for our items. I smiled at Lou, trying to come up with something to say that was encouraging but not too pushy. I knew that he was probably feeling self conscious right now, and I didn't want to make it worse.

"The croissants are good here," I said with a smile, even though I had never been here before. "Really?" Louis asked, his blue eyes widening. "I haven't had one in forever...." I nodded. I knew what that was like. Letting years go by without eating your favorite foods because of the fear of calories. It was one of the worst feelings in the world.

"Well, I'm sure you'll like it," I said. Just then, the barista placed the croissants and Louis' coffee on the counter, and we carried them back to the table. I cracked a smile as I saw that Lou had to stand on his tip toes to reach the coffee, as the counter top was pretty high.

"So what did you want to talk about?" Louis asked. He was holding his cup, looking into it and carefully expecting its contents. Then, he slowly brought it to his lips, taking a very tiny sip and replacing it in the saucer.

"Well..." I stammered. I didn't really have a plan here. I woke up too hungover to think of one. Louis looked at me expectantly and I thought back to what Niall had said. 'Just tell him how you feel.' So that's what I did.

"I guess I just wanted to be really honest with you about how I feel, about this whole situation with me helping you in the hospital. I know you're really upset with me and you don't trust that my intentions are good... and you don't trust me in general. But I was wondering if you could just, like, hear me out?" I asked, my hands shaking as I began to pull apart my croissant.

Louis took another small sip of his coffee and reached for his croissant, observing the way I had pulled it apart and replicating it, kind of like a child learning how to do something for the first time. "Okay," he said flatly. "Tell me. I'll listen."

I nodded and took a deep breath. Here went nothing. "Okay. So I know you think I'm only helping you because I feel like I owe you. And that's partially true. But the greater reason I'm doing it is because I still care about you. I... I still love you, Louis. And I haven't stopped thinking about you these past two years," I said. Tears were starting to form already and I felt like my stomach was in my throat. Why was I telling him this....?

"And, well, I know it sounds cheesy and surreal," I continued. "You don't have to believe me. But moving to California was the biggest mistake of my life. It really was. I should have stayed here with you and I didn't and it's unforgivable. And I'm truly, truly sorry, Lou. But I did offer for you to come with me. And you do know how much money I saved by not going to business school -- no one gets that job without going to business school and they gave it to me anyways. But it was selfish. I didn't even like California that much. And I spent so many nights staying up wishing I could call you. Wishing I could fly back to New York..."

Louis had dropped his croissant and was staring at me, his eyes wide and his lips pursed. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but I didn't want to know. I just wanted to finish my story. I didn't care how he reacted. I just needed to get it out.

"When I got transferred back here, I was so happy. I wanted to reach out to you, call you. But I knew I couldn't. I knew you hated me and had moved on. And when Ken said you wanted to see me, I was so ecstatic because it was like... maybe he wants me back? Selfish, I know. Selfish to think you'd wait around for me. But I never fucking stopped thinking of you, Lou. I never stopped. Every single morning I woke up wishing you were next to me, looking for your flannel pajamas in the wash, searching for the tiny messes you would make around the house. I just... I'm a horrible person. And I get why you don't want me in your life. And I respect that. But this past week with you... even though you hated me during it, even though you were sick and upset... it's been the best one in the past two years."

I looked up, locking eyes with Louis, who was still staring at me, silently. His jaw was tense, and I could tell he was clenching his teeth. His shoulders were tense too, and he sort of looked like he was going to punch me in the face. But he didn't.

"I... I missed you too, Harry. Honestly. When mum died, all I wanted was you to comfort me. But you don't get to come back and make this big confession and win me back. It's not like the movies. You caused me worlds of pain. And yes, I could have moved to California or we could have even done distance. But you made it an ultimatum for me to move with you, Harry. And I so badly want to give you another chance. But Harry, I've hit rock bottom right now. And it would be foolish of me to put myself in a position where I'm going to get hurt again. Because I honestly don't know if I'll be able to get back up again," he said, his voice cracking a bit towards the end. He wiped a tear away quickly, probably hoping I wouldn't notice.

I nodded in response. "I know. I know. And the last thing I want is to hurt you again. I don't deserve you, honestly. But... I see that you're hurting and I... fuck, Louis. I just want to help you," I said, coughing as I tried to hold back tears.

Lou licked his lips, leaning back in his seat. "Honestly, I came here today to ask for help. Zayn thinks you can help me... with, you know..."

My eyes widened in surprise. I wasn't expecting him to say that. I didn't think he wanted my help. "I.... yeah," I said, nodding slowly. " I can..."

Louis nodded. "I know. And I was going to ask for it. But that was before I knew you had feelings for me still. It wouldn't be platonic," he said, frowning a bit. He took another sip of his lattee, wrinkling his nose slightly. It was probably cold by now.

"Yeah, but we can keep it platonic," I said, struggling to find an in, any in to Louis' life. Louis wagged an eyebrow at me. "Harry," he said, shaking his head. "It's too much."

I nodded, returning my attention to my croissant. My nausea seemed to be subsiding, and I began to take small bites, allowing the warm pastry to slide down my throat. Louis followed suit, taking a small, flaky piece and chewing it slowly. He looked uncertain about continuing, but I nodded, watching as he took another piece.

And without speaking, we both realized this was exactly what he needed.

"Harry. How did you feel when you got hungry again for the first time?" Louis asked, tracing his fingers along the wood table.

I paused to think, unsure where the conversation was going. "I was really scared. It felt like I was losing control, and I didn't like it. I cried a lot. You remember, don't you? Well, maybe not, because I tried to hide it," I replied, grimacing a bit.

Louis nodded, breaking off another piece of the croissant. I was nearly finished with mine now.

"I do remember. I heard you," he said softly. "I haven't cried. I just panic. It's really hard to eat. Incredibly hard."

I nodded. I knew the feeling. And having Louis sitting here struggling with a tiny croissant, after I had just inhaled mine, was making me relive that feeling all over again. I told myself that I shouldn't be idealizing his illness. But sometimes it was hard not to.

"I know, babe.... Louis. Louis. Fuck, I'm sorry," I said, my face turning crimson. Louis laughed, shaking his head. "It's okay," he giggled, grinning a bit.

"I was gonna say that I know it's really hard. It's honestly only a matter of pushing through it. Have you gotten yourself a therapist?" I asked, finishing off my green tea.

Louis nodded. "Zayn referred me to someone and I made an appointment for Wednesday," he said. "I... Haz, I want to believe you've changed. I really do want you back in my life. But I'm so fucked up right now."

"I don't mind fucked up. I'm fucked up too, Louis," I said, my heart pounding in response to what he told me. Maybe I did have a chance....

Louis nodded and took the final bite of his croissant, though I could see a guilty expression creep across his face as he did so. "Trust me. It's okay, Lou," I said softly. "I finished mine too."

He nodded. "I wish I could trust you," he said, nearly whispering. "I really do."


	15. Desire

Louis' POV

I don't know why I invited him back to my apartment. It was a huge mistake, and would probably come back to get me later. But at the time, I just didn't care. Harry had told me he loved me, told me he never stopped thinking about me. That he should never have left. And honestly, that's all I've ever wanted to hear.

I didn't know if I could trust him again. I didn't know if He would hurt me or fuck me over again. But I fucking wanted him back so bad that logic didn't even matter anymore. I didn't have the energy to keep putting my walls up, to maintain my restraint. I just wanted Harry, and I was tired of holding back by being bitter and distant when all I wanted to go was get intimate.

"I... I know I said I want to keep things platonic. But do you want to come over? Just to talk more in private, about, well..." I had said as we finished our food and drinks in the cafe. Harry nodded. "Of course," he replied. "As friends."

And I genuinely thought it would be just as friends. But as soon as Harry walked through the door frame, I couldn't resist the way I was feeling. I was growing hot and heavy with desire, my heart racing and my crotch tingling. It had been two years since I had sex with Harry — and one year since I had sex at all. Honestly, I had been so depressed and malnourished this past year that my sex drive had been barely existent. But suddenly, it was back.... and I couldn't control myself.

"I love your decor," Harry said, sitting at the table and folding his hands on his lap politely. "Thanks," I replied, taking a seat next to him. It was the same position Zayn and I had been in last night — minus the overpowering sexual tension.

"So, what's on your mind?" Harry asked, turning to me. I tried not to blush, as the eye contact was only making things worse. "Well... I've been trying to have three meals a day. I've been doing about two so far. I haven't gone grocery shopping so I don't even have much. But it takes ages to eat..." I started. But I could barely focus on what I was saying.

"Well we can go grocery shopping if you want. We can make you a meal plan too," Harry said cheerily. I nodded, hardly processing what he said. "Good idea," I said, distractedly.

Harry said something else, but it didn't matter. I was out of my chair now and leaning towards him, grabbing his jaw and kissing him.

It was incredible.

I don't think I've ever had a kiss like this — not even a first kiss. It was so passionate, so chilling. I felt tiny electric pulses go down my spine as I kissed him, moving my tongue in and out of his mouth, running my hands through his hair. It felt almost surreal, and I began to question if it was really happening.

When Harry began to kiss back, I realized it was. He pushed his tongue forward, swirling it and sucking on my bottom lip, biting it a bit. He put his hands on the small of back and then slid them to my ass, giving it a squeeze before cupping my cheeks and lifting me up.

I didn't hesitate to wrap my legs around him, continuing to deepen the kiss. Harry moaned a little, lifting me up onto the counter. I pulled away for a second to take my shirt off, and Harry did the same. "Are you sure you want this, Louis?" He asked sternly, his green eyes connecting with my blue ones.

His long brown hair was falling into his eyes and he pushed it back, his face stern and serious as he awaited my response. "Yes," I growled, leaning towards him. He nodded and finished removing his shirt, revealing chiseled abs and rippling biceps.

"Damn," I said, grabbing onto his muscular chest. "Sexy." Harry smiled picking me up once again and planting a kiss on my forehead. "You're sexy," he growled back. Any other time, I would have protested, but I wasn't even thinking straight at this point. I just nodded and continued to kiss him.

"Fuck," I moaned, as Harry began to suck on my neck. I always loved Harry's hickies. Even years into our relationship, they never got old and I often showed up to work with them, not even bothering to wear a scarf to hide them. They were just a natural part of my look at that point.

"Haz," I whimpered. He was sucking wildly, certainly leaving many marks behind. Harry pulled away, smiling and admiring his work. I decided to return the favor, jumping down from Harry's arms and beginning to suck on his collar bone. Harry moaned softly in pleasure, a sound I never got tired of, and may or may not have saved in my memory for the very purpose of pleasuring myself, even long after he was gone.

I don't think I've ever felt so euphoric— at least not in a long time. Harry was currently running his fingers through my hair as I moved onto his neck, and I could barely keep from coming at the sound of his breathy moans. Suddenly, nothing else mattered but me and him and the adrenaline pumping through my veins. I finally felt normal for once.

"Oh my fuck, Harry, I Need you," I breathed, grabbing his torso and grinding my pelvis against his. I could feel harry — he was fully hard too — and he grabbed my waist and gyrated his hips slowly. "Need you too," he grunted, closing his eyes and leaning his head back.

"Let's go to the bedroom," I painted, grabbing his hip bones firmly. He nodded and we pulled apart momentarily, jumping onto my bed and quickly removing our clothes.

I was so fucking ready.


	16. Love and Lust

Harry's POV

Louis was on top of me now. We were in his bed, and my head was pressed against the headboard as he straddled me, covering my torso with kisses. I rubbed his hair lightly, moaning his name as he marked me in love bites.

I still couldn't believe this was happening right now. Less than an hour ago in the cafe Louis had made it really clear that he didn't want to be with me in this way. He distinctly used the words 'strictly platonic.' But as soon as we got into his apartment, he came onto me out of nowhere.

I wasn't complaining. It's clearly what I wanted too. I stood there in shock for a minute as he kissed me for the first time in two years, wondering if it was real. Wondering if all those nights I stayed up thinking about him were finally worth it.

He felt exactly the same, if not better, on my lips. It was my Lou, my beautiful Lou. And I grabbed his face and I kissed him back and ran my fingers through his hair without a second thought. We're right together. We were always right together.

I remember Lou took his shirt off at some point and that's when my crazed, hyped up state began to simmer down a bit. I asked if he was sure he wanted to do this. I didn't want him to do anything he wasn't comfortable doing, or would regret later. As badly as I wanted him, I still respected him.

He said yes.

We headed to the bedroom a little while later. The kitchen didn't have enough room for what we were about to do. Louis started to take his pants off and I followed suit. I tried not to stare at how thin he was, how his bones were showing... pretty much everywhere. Part of me didn't want to look at him, but another part wanted to look forever. I swallowed and shook my head, focusing on his face.

It's not that I didn't find him attractive. Louis will always be attractive to me no matter what. But it hurt to see him like this, so sick, so close to death. I remembered being there in that same state. The bones, the constant shivering, the daily pain. I just wanted to put him in a blanket and hold him, make sure he was okay. Because he wasn't okay, and I wanted to help him.

Louis' kisses were getting lower now, and he was making a tiny trail of bites on one of my hip bones. Not too long after, I felt his tiny hands wrap around my dick and he began to jerk me off, swirling his tongue on the tip a little. Then, in one swift motion, he engulfed it in his mouth, and the euphoria I felt was indescribable.

This might sound vulgar, but Louis' blow jobs were out of this world, and I have yet to master the craft of getting anywhere near as good as him. I can't explain exactly what he does, but he essentially uses his tongue to lick the underpart of the tip, while simultaneously sucking deep and fast. It gets me hysterical and I'm usually shaking and gripping onto the edge of the bed gasping for breath by the end.

"Fuckkkk," I breathed, balling the covers up in my fist. "So good." Louis continued, upping his speed and I started moaning uncontrollably. How was he so fucking good at this?

"Wait oh my god, Lou..." I yelled, nearly jumping up as I remembered. "Your throat!"

Louis stopped what he was doing and looked up at me, his blue eyes wide. Then he burst out laughing, throwing his head back and giggling at the ceiling. I smiled at the way his eyes crinkled on the sides. It was probably my favorite quality of his, and it made him look so adorable.

"Harry, don't be that conceited. Your dick isn't that hard. It's not hitting me directly in the throat," he said sassily between laughs. I shook my head, laughing along with him and thinking about how stupid I had just been.

"I missed this," Louis said, crawling back up the bed and lying down next to me. I nodded, inching closer to him and grabbing him by the waist. "Me too," I said, reaching for his dick now. I wasn't the best, but I wasn't too shabby either.

I skipped the body kisses on the way down. I told myself it was because I was eager to pleasure him, but deep down I knew it was because I didn't want to get that intimate with his rib cage and piercing hip bones. Louis didn't seem to mind, and instead coiling his fingers around locks of my hair as I began to suck him, trying my best to get my tongue involved in the action.

"That's really good, Haz," he moaned, tugging my hair a bit. That had always been a kink of his. Pulling my hair and slapping me sometimes. He wasn't into domination or anything like that, just a little rough housing. And after a while, it started to grow on me too.

I continued blowing him, quickening the pace and cupping his balls the way I knew he liked it. "Fuck," he moaned, wiggling his feet a little in response. If I could have smiled, I would have. But I kept going, wondering if he wanted me to let him finish....

"Okay, okay, okay, get off!" he said a few seconds later. I guess that answered that question. I nodded, removing my mouth and sitting up on the bed. I turned to face Louis, who was now fumbling around in his dresser drawer, presumably for lube. Our favorite was K and Y strawberry flavored. But regular worked just fine.

Louis returned back to the bed with a bottle of "his and her pleasure." I started to chuckle and he rolled his eyes. "Don't ask," he muttered with a smirk. I wasn't planning on it..

"So, how do you want it?" I asked, moving closer to him. I kissed him tenderly, our lips colliding, and then locked eyes with him. Just by looking at him, I could tell what his answer was. Oh, boy.

"Top," he said, licking his lips. I nodded, smiling and then rolled onto my stomach, turning around and staring back at him over my shoulder. His hair was toussled in every direction and the hairs near his forehead were a little wet with sweat. His blue eyes were bright, almost radiating against his pale skin.

"I love you," I said softly. I wasn't sure if it was the right move or not, but I had already told him I loved him before in the cafe. It's not like it changed anything.

Louis nodded, but didn't say it back. My stomach sort of dropped in that moment, but I understood. This was all a lot to process. I was still fucking processing it. This could very well be a one time thing we were about to do right now -- or it could become a regular thing. I had no idea. But either way, I was going to enjoy being intimate with Lou.

Grabbing me by the waist, Louis started to lather the lube onto his fingers and entered me slowly. It felt sort of cold and painful at first, but as he began weaving his fingers in and out I began to open up and it felt much better.

"Ready?" Louis asked, removing his fingers. "Yeah," I called back, biting my lip. I fucking loved when he fucked me.

Louis gripped my hips and began to thrust, entering me slowly, but quickly speeding up the pace. He moved his hips quickly, hitting them against my ass with a slap, and soon I was groaning with pleasure.

"You feel amazing," Louis breathed, putting one hand on the small of my back. "So you do," I replied, nearly choking as the pleasure started to take over. I was one to get very emotional during sex, and I felt my eyes tearing up as he fucked me. It was just so fucking euphoric... I could hardly contain myself.

"Harry, fuck," Louis moaned as he continued his motion. Wanting to participate more, I pushed back lightly against his dick, deepening the penetration even further. We both starting moaning now and Louis grabbed my hips roughly, slapping my ass as he continued. So fucking hot.

Louis was starting to slow down now, and I knew that meant he was going to come soon. I turned back and watched as he pulled out and began to orgasm. "Fuck, I'm coming," he said, gripping his dick and allowing the white liquid to fall onto the comforter.

As I watched him, I grabbed my own dick and started to come as well, the sight of his O face destroying my ability to hold back.

When we were both done, we collapsed into the bed, Louis resting his little head on my chest as I stroked his hair. "Harry," he said, looking up at me with a curious expression. "Yes, Lou?" I replied.

"I love you too."


	17. Morning After

Lou POV

Wow. Did I really just fucking say that?

I looked up at Harry's face to see if it was true — and yeah, it must have been because he was smiling bigger than he had ever smiled before. Even when bigger than when I had won him a life sized panda stuffed animal at Coney Island. He was that happy.

I smiled back and climbed up further on his chest, trying to relax as I nestled into the crook of his neck. I always felt safest here.

I began to think about what I had just told him, if I really meant it. I did, didn't I? I did love him. I did love him, but I was also terrified he would hurt me again. It's possible to be both, right?

As I buried my face into Harry's neck, I couldn't help but start feeling emotional, like I sometimes did after sex. Everything had just moved so fast, had gone so perfectly. It was like we were never apart. Except we were. For a really long time, and within that time I became very depressed, very sick.

I pulled away from harry for a moment, positioning myself next to him on the bed and looking down at myself. I was so thin, so fragile. My bones were so visible I could have passed as a classroom skeleton. And I would be lying if I said I wasn't exhausted from being top, even though I used to be able to top a million times without getting tired.

I was weak.

"Hey, what's wrong, Lou?" Harry asked, probably noticing my upset facial expression. I shook my head, not wanting to ruin the moment, but my tears disobeyed my brain, and started to fall anyways.

"I'm just so fucked up," I said, my voice breaking. Harry scooped me up and placed me back on his chest, looking at me with those big green eyes. "It's okay Lou. We all are. You're gonna be okay, you know that, right?" He said softly, rubbing my back tenderly.

I nodded, but I didn't agree. I didn't feel like I was going to be alright. How was I going to be alright if I couldn't even eat a god damn granola bar without nearly having a heart attack?

"Harry, I can't even look at myself," I continued. "I'm so sick it's scary." I was crying now, and I didn't care. Harry had seen me cry before. And as much as I wanted to keep up the tough guy image, I just couldn't do it anymore. Zayn was right. I needed Harry. I needed to open up to him, to be vulnerable.

Harry nodded and continued rubbing my back, planting a soft kiss on my head. I could feel his chest rise and fall beneath mine, and in that moment, all was at peace with the world. I just wished that one day I could be at peace with myself.

"I know. But I promise you, we'll fix this. Slowly but surely. It takes time. You remember what it was like with me, don't you?" he asked. "It's a really difficult process, but if anyone can do it, it's you, Louis. You're so strong, babe."

I tried not to blush as he called me babe, but I probably failed. Right now I was feeling a bunch of different emotions at once— fear and sadness because of my condition, familiarity and longing for Harry, hope for our relationship. Love. It was hard to think straight.

"I remember. And thank you... for coming back after I was so rude to you. And thank you for coming over," I said, sniffling a bit as I studied his face. His eyes were dilated and there was a tiny bit of stubble forming above his lips, which were red from kissing.

"I didn't intend for this to happen, by the way. Sorry if I..." I continued, but Harry cut me off. "It was perfect," he cooed. "Lovely. I'm glad I came over. And don't worry about you being mean to me. I can handle it. And I deserved it."

I nodded. He did deserve it. After all he did to me. I felt my face get hot as I thought about it. Maybe I wasn't as ready to forgive him as I thought. I wasn't one to let things go easily. But as I lay on his chest, Embracing his warm caress, how could I be mad? How could I ever give this up? He said he was miserable without me, that he missed me too. We both suffered... and based on the sex we just had, we both missed out on something incredible for the past two years.

I started to lay my head on Harry's chest, closing my eyes when that awful feeling started to happen again in the pit of my stomach. I felt it growl and nearly jumped up off of Harry because I was so startled.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked, giggling as he watched me jump. "Yeah, fine," I said with a nervous laugh. But Harry raised an eyebrow.

"You can't fool me, Mister Tomlinson. I know what just happened," he said with a playful sternness in his voice. "Now let's go get something to eat. I'm hungry too."

"Okay," I said. I smiled and pulled on my boxers before following Harry to the kitchen. When he opened my fridge, however, we decided takeout it would be....


	18. Black and White

Harry's POV 

"So do you want something in particular?" I asked Louis, carefully examining his face to see how he responded. I didn't want to push him too hard, and I knew eating was probably the last thing he wanted to do, so I wanted to let him pick something he felt at least semi-comfortable with. 

Louis shrugged. "I don't even know what normal is anymore, Harry, honestly," he said, flipping through his phone. "I'm trying to look up 'normal dinners that people eat.'" He was laughing a little, but I could tell he was upset, and I walked over, motioning for him to put his phone down and scooping him up in a hug.

"I know it's rough," I said, placing him back on the countertop where our hookup had began not too long ago. "Well let's think back to what you used to like. Curry was your favorite. And you used to like fish and chips. And Italian. Any kind of chicken. Do any of those sound good?" 

Louis turned to look at me, his icy blue irises contracting as his pupils dilated. "You're just so cute," he said, laughing, embarrassed. "Distracted me." 

I smiled, cuddling up next to him on the counter. It was good to see he was finally letting his walls down and allowing me to see his feelings a bit more. It was a good sign that he might be able to trust me again one day. 

"But yeah, I think I could do chicken. Like chicken and rice?" he said, biting his lip. I nodded, encouragingly, trying not to look down at his bony torso. I wondered if he used to avoid looking at mine, or if it didn't bother him, it was just an unfortunate tragedy, and not some bittersweet, half enticing, half sickening muse. 

Damn, I hated eating disorders. Even after all this time, I could never 100% let it go the desire to be thin, to stop eating. And as fucked up as it was, I felt the tiniest bit jealous of Lou -- not because he was suffering, but because he was winning. Winning that fucked up competition with yourself to get as thin as possible.... 

"Wonderful, I know a good place," I said, returning my thoughts to Louis. I leafed through my phone for the number and then dialed the restaurant, placing an order for two chicken and rice takeaways. We also got two drinks -- a coke and an iced tea. 

"So, Haz, I talked to Zayn yesterday," Louis said a little while later. We were back in his bedroom, sitting on his bed and watching episodes of the Office while we waited for the food, which according to Seamless, was only 45 minutes away. But we both knew it would take longer. 

"How'd it go?" I asked. Zayn was Louis' long time best friend. They had done a ton of music together, and as far as I knew, they still were. But the ominous tone in Louis' voice made me think otherwise. 

"Well, we hadn't talked in like a year. I was pushing him away so much when mum died. He just wanted to hang out. Like even just stay in and watch a movie. But I wouldn't do any of it. I just wanted to be alone and cry. And so, the friendship faded out," Louis said. He looked a little bit uncomfortable and was inching away from me as a spoke. Perhaps he truly didn't trust me yet...

"Anyways," he said, clearing his throat. "I invited him over. I was losing my shit and going to purge, but I couldn't with my throat. And so I invited him over. We talked a bit and I told him my issues. But then he told me he was getting married -- which was awesome. I was happy for him. But he was making Liam the best man...."

Louis' face fell and started to wipe away tears, which were coming down his cheeks quickly. "Lou, I'm so sorry. That's awful of him," I said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. We had both gotten dressed again, as it was rather drafty in the apartment for me -- and probably doubly so for Louis. 

I started chew on the sleeve of his jumper as he sniffled. "It's okay. He didn't have to ask me. It had been so long," he mumbled, shaking his head. "But yeah, he got offended and left. And he said he'd help me with meal check ins and getting a therapist. But that's about it."

I stroked Louis' back unsure how to respond. For as long as we were dating, Louis and Zayn had been nearly inseparable, best friends who did everything together. Who knew just one year could tear their friendship apart so quickly. I didn't even know who this Liam guy was either, so he must have been a new friend or a relative of some sort. Even if they hadn't spoken in a while, Zayn should have at least invited Louis to the wedding.

"I'm really sorry. Maybe you can work it out. Just give it a bit of time," I said, trying to keep a positive outlook. Louis nodded, nestling back into my chest and kissing my jawline softly. I fucking missed this so much it hurt. 

"Fuck!" I cried, jumping and ruining the moment as my phone buzzed in my pocket. The food was here now, according to the app, so Louis and I got up and headed to the door to let the deliveryman into the apartment.

Once we got the food, Louis started setting the table, putting out paper plates and plastic utensils. "Don't judge," he said laughing nervously. "I just lost my job." We made eye contact briefly and I thought about saying something about the opening at my job, but decided that was another conversation for another time. Didn't want to stress him out anymore before his meal.

I began opening the plastic dishes of food and serving the chicken onto the plates. I gave myself the bigger piece, but sort of felt weird about it. Did I really need more food? Louis was the one starving. But I decided to leave it and then portioned out the rice, leaving a tiny bit behind.

"So I realized I do ten times better eating with others than I do by myself," Louis said, cutting into his chicken with the plastic knife. I cut into my too, quickly finding that it was not sufficient for the density of the meat and required a bit of sawing. 

"Yeah, that makes sense," I said, popping a piece of chicken into my mouth. It was lemon chicken, which used to be my and Lou's favorite thing to order on Friday nights when neither of us felt like cooking. 

Louis was eating his chicken now too, but slower. I took a sip of my cook and he watched me carefully, following suit and taking a hesitant sip of his iced tea. He sort of hovered there at the straw, probably wondering how much was too much. I smiled at him, as if to tell him it was okay. You can drink as much as you want. But it's hard to compete with a screaming voice in someone's head. Trust me, I would know. 

"Remember when we ordered this one night and we were supposed to go to some work party of yours, but just stayed in and watched Harry Potter movies for hours?" I asked, giggling as I thought back to the last time we had this meal together. 

Louis nodded. "Yeah, that was bloody amazing. My coworkers were so mad. They said it was the most boring party. They were jealous," he chuckled. His smile looked genuine, pure. I could tell it was a long time since he felt this happy -- and I realized I was the one making him feel this way. Which was probably the most incredible feeling in the world. 

But it was also terrifying. Because as much as I could make Louis happy, I could also make him extremely sad. And I never wanted to make that mistake again as long as I lived. 

"Great times," I said, finishing up my chicken and moving onto the rice. "But not as good as the time we had a sleepover party with Niall and he got so drunk that he ended up in the neighbor's apartment!" I was just rattling off random memories at this point, trying to hold off the inevitable deeper conversations we were going to have to have later... .like where is this headed? What are we? Are we together?

I wanted to have those conversations. Trust me I did. And we would. But not right now. I just wanted to keep Lou happy and distracted as he ate. 

Lou nodded, his shoulders bobbing up and down as he laughed. He was smiling, but soon his face fell, and he pushed the plate away, shaking his head. He had eaten most of the chicken, but hadn't touched the rice. 

"Can't do it, Harry. I can't have the rice," he said, putting his hand on his forehead. I nodded, putting down my fork for a second to comfort him. "It's okay," I said soothingly. "Are you fool?"

Louis shook his head, recoiling as I tried to touch him. "No, I don't know. I just can't. We already had that croissant today and that was a lot of carbs... I just can't," he said, shaking his head again. It hurt to see him like this -- just seconds ago he had been beaming over our memories. Now he was devastated over a helping of rice. 

"Hey," I said softly. I got up and moved next to him, kneeling next to him on the floor and looking up at him. "You don't have to finish it, okay. But whatever calculations and numbers going on in your head -- calories, macros, carb count, whatever. You're gonna have to learn to ignore that. Because those restrictions don't apply to you anymore, Louis. You're really sick and we're gonna go see a nutritionist and she'll tell you exactly what you need. Okay?" 

Louis nodded hastily, getting up from the table wordlessly and heading to the bathroom. He was not going to fucking purge right now... 

"Louis?" I called, running after him. He was starting to lock the door, but I wedged my foot in before he could close it. "Fuck off, Harry. I'm just going to the bathroom," he said angrily. His eyebrows were furrowed and his blue eyes were glaring at me.

"Lou, I saw that look in your eyes. Please don't do it. Your throat is fucked up, love. And you did so well today. We'll get through it together," I said, trying to change his mind, though I knew I was dealing with much greater forces than just Louis right now. 

Louis shook his head, but at this point, I pushed my way into the bathroom and was standing next to him. He glared at me with probably the most terrifying look I have ever seen, his eyes bloodshot and his hands shaking, and lunged towards the toilet, inserting his finger into his mouth and gagging. 

I tried to pull him off the toilet, but he was kicking and screaming wildly. "Fucking fuck you," he spat as I pulled him towards the door. I was trying really hard not to hurt him, given how weak he was. Not that I was really restraining him -- he was fighting back, giving me a run for my money to keep him away from the toilet. 

Finally, just as we reached the outside of the bathroom, he bit down on my arm, causing me to release him and grip my arm in pain. As I stared at the droplets of blood coming from arm, I watched in terror as Louis leaned over the toilet and finished the job. 

I don't think I can do this...


	19. Plans

Louis POV

"You should go." 

It's nearly a whisper, and I'm not even sure Harry can hear me. But I don't care. I stare at him and motion towards the door, making it clear I want him gone. This had all been a horrible idea. 

It was funny to think that even for a second I could trust Harry. That I could let him into my life, into my house, into my body, and that things could just go back to the way they were. The way things used to be. But Harry has changed more than I thought since he moved away -- he's more selfish, more controlling, more manipulative. And this was just another example of that. 

"Louis, I'm sorry I put my hands on you. I just didn't know what else to do--" he began. His green eyes were wet with tears as he sat on the floor, using his shirt sleeve to sop up the blood dripping down his fore arm and onto the floor. 

My stomach twisted as I realized I had done that. I had bit him. Like some kind of wild animal. But I was a wild animal at this point, wasn't I? 

"Shut it, Harry," I snapped, interrupting him. My voice was back now, though it hurt a bit. I definitely damaged my throat more through the purging. I didn't care about the pain, though. I was getting to used to it. 

Harry nodded, his bright eyes darkening as he realized that this conversation was a dead end. That we were a dead end. That this wasn't happening, now or ever. 

"You should really go," I said again, getting up to head to the door. It seemed like he was having some trouble locating it. Unfortunately, when I got up, a dizzy spell came over me, and I found myself clinging to the sink as my legs buckled beneath me and my vision went fuzzy. 

As the room began to darken, I felt Harry's strong hands behind me, holding me steady. Every fiber of my being wanted to run away, but instead I allowed myself to fall onto his chest because as upset as I was with him, I needed help. And I just couldn't deny that anymore. 

Harry walked me to the couch, and my vision started coming back. I avoided his gaze, and scooted further away from him, like a child who was mad at one of their parents. Harry didn't say anything and neither did I.

There was nothing to say.

I don't know how much time went back. I scrolled through my phone for a while, trying to look up jobs to apply to. But who was I kidding, I couldn't work in this condition. Functioning in society was becoming harder and harder. 

Eventually, I put the phone down. I slowly turned to look at Harry, hoping he wouldn't notice. I assumed he was enthralled in some marketing articles on his phone, but instead, he was sitting with his hands in his lap, staring at the wall in front of him. He looked so completely lost, so out of it. Like he was searching for answers that weren't there...

"Lou," he said, turning to me and breaking the hours long silence. He must have sensed me look over him. "I really am sorry. I'll go if you want me to."

I looked into his eyes, the deep green color striking me as if I were seeing it for the first time. "Okay," I croaked, clasping my hand to my throat as I realized how bad I sounded. Harry raised an eyebrow, concerned. 

"You should go to the doctor," he said quietly. "But I won't make you." 

I nodded again, rubbing the back of my head with my wrist. I winced as my bones collided. 

"I just... what are we going to do, Louis?" he asked, turning to me. His eyes were wet and I felt mine getting wet too. But I didn't have the energy to cry. So I just looked at him with sad eyes, shaking my head. 

"I don't know," I said quietly. Harry nodded, moving closer to me on the couch. He extended a hand, gently. "Can I?" he asked softly. 

The obvious answer was no. Absolutely not. But I felt so alone right now, so lost. My mind was so clouded and foggy, I was starting to forget that I was even mad at Harry. I was just thinking about tomorrow and how I would ever get through it. It seemed so impossible. 

So I nodded, allowing Harry to come sit next to me, and gently wrap and arm around me. I leaned back into his embrace, cuddling on his chest as he rubbed my back. This wasn't a permanent solution -- this wasn't even a temporary one. But I was just so tired -- so exhausted. I couldn't do this alone anymore. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up about an hour later with Harry still cradling me. "Hey," he said, petting my hair softly. "Hey," I replied, my voice cracking again. I bit my lip and watched Harry wince as he realized how quickly I was deteriorating. 

"Do you want water?" he asked. He looked helpless, like he was walking on eggshells. It was the same way I used to act around him when he was sick. Because I knew that one wrong move, one incorrect brand of food, one extra calorie could lead to hours of fighting and throwing things and crying. 

"Okay," I said, getting up to get it. Harry looked like he wanted to tell me to sit back down, that he would get it. But he didn't say anything. He just stood there for a moment and then followed me into the kitchen, observing as I filled the glass of water. 

I tried to hide the fact that my hands were shaking too much to hold the glass steady in the sink. But Harry noticed. Of course he did. And that's why he was able to catch it seconds before I dropped it, nearly allowing it to shatter into a hundred pieces in my metal sink. 

"I can make tea if you want," Harry said as he refilled the glass and handed it to me. I shrugged. I used to make us English breakfast tea all the time in the flat. It was our favorite. Harry nodded, assuming my shrug meant 'OK,' and proceeded to my Keurig to boil the water. 

I brought the water to my lips, closing my eyes tightly as I realized it stung on the way down. Then I put the glass down and tried to help by getting tea cups from the cupboard, a task which my shaky hands somehow managed to do without breaking anything -- just barely. I set the cups down on the counter, studying the design of Big Ben on one of the mugs, a tourist design Harry had bought me as a joke one year for my birthday. 

That's when it hit me.

"Harry," I said, suddenly. He perked his head up, his eyes widening in my direction. "I think I should go back to England."

He didn't answer. He sort of just nodded as he fumbled with the tea. I guess he was waiting for me to explain or something. 

"I could go back and see my sisters. And I could do rehab there. I lost my job, so it's good timing. Dual citizenship, so free health care," I said, realizing too little too late that it seemed like I was kind of asking his permission. 

"I... yeah," he stammered, unsure what to make of my idea. "That would be great for you, I think. It's your decision, Lou."

I nodded, thinking it over in my head. It was just an idea for now, but it seemed so perfect. I hadn't seen my sisters in a proper setting outside of the funeral in months, and I think leaving New York, leaving this drab, empty apartment could help. And leaving... Harry....

"I'm going, then," I said, pacing to my room to get my computer. I wanted to look up flights. 

Harry nodded, grabbing the teacups and filling them with the steamed water. "Proud of you," he said softly. I nodded, biting my lip as I set my computer on the counter and scrolled through Google Flights. If I took a late night flight it would be like 300$ cheaper....

"Louis... I. Um..." Harry started to say something but cut off. I looked up at him, frowning as I noticed how upset he looked. His eyes were all dark and sullen and his lips were pouty. I felt bad almost. But wasn't I mad at him? I wasn't sure anymore...

I truly was losing control of my mind, of my emotions... It was hard to focus on more than one thing now. 

"I'll miss you," he finally said, handing me the tea. "But I'm glad you came to this decision. And I'm proud of you." 

I nodded. "I'll miss you too."


	20. Goodbyes

Harry's Point of View

The ride to the airport was a quiet one. It was early in the morning and I could tell Louis was sleepy, as he was never a morning person to begin with. But that wasn't why he wasn't speaking.

After Louis made the decision to go to England, after he booked his tickets and signed up for his rehab program, we had talked. I mean actually talked. About us, and about him and everything he was going through.

"Lou, I don't want to be selfish here. I can't tell if you want me in your life or not. And if you do, I can't tell how you want me in your life — just a friend or something more. I'm leaving this decision entirely up to you. Because It's really your choice," I had told him over a cup of tea once he was finally situated with his plans.

Louis nodded and looked into his tea cup, trying to do anything he could to avoid my gaze. Since his purge session a few nights prior, he had been doing better. At least to my knowledge. I ate as many meals as I could with him, and he had kept in touch with Zayn, which seemed to be helping despite their emotional argument. He wasn't eating much— but he was eating, and that's all I could ask of him at the moment.

But not even the soft sunlight could hide his angular bones and thinning face. And I knew that what Louis needed more than anything in the world was professional support, which was something that I couldn't give him.

"I... I don't know," Louis finally said, his eyes darting guiltily towards my face and back to the teacup.

I nodded. Even asking him to choose seemed to be putting too much pressure on him. Maybe, I was just too much. Maybe he just needed time and space on his own. My recovery had been different; I went to my doctors for help, but I relied on Louis for nearly everything else emotionally. For him, it seemed like he might prefer to brave this journey alone, and I had to respect that.

"It's okay. You don't have to know. Just focus on your recovery," I said, leaning forward and kissing his head gently.

I got up to wash the dishes, but Louis grabbed my shoulder, his weak grip hardly restraining me. "I really will miss you. And I really do love you," he said, his blue irises shrinking as his eyes dilated. "It's just, my head is very confused. My thoughts and feelings are jumbled. I'm not certain about anything. I don't want to make promises that I can't keep..."

I nodded. "I know the feeling, love. It's okay. Honestly, I'm just here to support your decisions. Don't want to stress you out more," I said, though I knew I was lying partially. A part of me wanted to be here for something more, something romantic.

It wasn't too long after that conversation that Louis had packed his bags and hopped into my car to head to the airport. And now here we were, only ten minutes away from arriving. As I gripped the steering wheel, I felt my heart thumping out of my chest and tears welling in the back of my eyes. I didn't want to get emotional, but I knew it would probably happen. I'm not good at hiding my feelings.

"Almost there," I said quietly, watching Louis through my peripheral vision. He was looking at the window, his tiny hands struggling to wrap around his oversized iPhone 8 Plus. "Are we?" He muttered, rubbing his eyes lazily. "Tired."

"I know you're tired, love," I said with a little laugh. "Just wanted to let you know I'm gonna miss you."

Louis nodded, tugging on the strings of his hoodie. "I know. Me too. But I'll call you and everything. And zayn too. It's only 3 months," Louis said, assuringly, though the crack in his voice implied a bit of uncertainty.

It was only three months — but after two years apart, I couldn't wait anymore to be with him. My heart hurt just thinking about not being able to see him everyday, not being able to touch him or hold him. Even if what we had was hardly a relationship, it was something, wasn't it? And that was good enough for me.

We had more sex, after that one time. I felt bad doing it with him. Guilty almost. But Louis was always the one to initiate it, and he was always persuasive. I began to wonder if he kept topping to burn calories, so I asked him if I could top a few times. It just terrified me, having him exerting himself so much. His dizzy spells were getting worse and so were his heart palpitations. We probably shouldn't have been having sex at all.... but I truly couldn't resist myself once he got his hands on me.

But sex or no sex, I still loved him. And I still wanted him to get better, to feel better. And I knew that going to England was the right decision, even if it felt impossible to be apart from him for so long.

"I know you'll call. I'll call too. But I'll miss you all the same, Lou," I said, signaling to turn off the highway as we reached the exit for JFK.

A few minutes later, I was helping Lou with his suitcases in the front entrance of his terminal. I was worried if he could even carry them inside— I would have went in with him but the parking was 50$ for one hour.

"I love you, Harry," Louis said, stepping on his tip toes to give me a hug before leaving. His thin arms draped around my shoulders and I scooped him up, allowing him to latch on like a koala as I held him.

"Love you too, LouBear," I replied. He leaned in and kissed me, our lips connecting for the last time in a long time. I just hoped and prayed that the next time we met again at an airport terminal like this, it would be with a healthy Lou. A happy Lou. My Lou.


	21. Unbearable

Louis POV

I don't remember much about what happened after Harry dropped me off that day to go to England. I remember feeling so tired and hungry and emotional that I could hardly focus. I don't how I made it through security without tripping and falling over my oversized bags — the bags I used to carry for Harry because he was too weak to do it himself. It used to be easy back then, now I was straining myself to push them only a few feet.

Once I got to the waiting area, I decided to get something to eat. It was going to be a long flight and I was never one for plane food, even when I wasn't sick. I browsed the kiosks of restaurants and cafes, looking for something that wouldn't make my stomach turn. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking about Harry, about how i wouldn't see him again for three months— probably more as three months was the minimum. They could hold you longer if you didn't regain the weight fully. But I tried to push that to the back of my mind, as picking a restaurant was stressful enough.

I remember walking in circles trying to find something, anything that I didn't consider super unhealthy. I began to feel anxious as I watched people eating donuts and pastries and egg and cheese sandwiches in the food court. How could they possibly eat so unhealthily— and not even bat an eye?

Eventually, I decided on a yogurt cup with fruit and a coffee with milk. I wasn't thrilled about it, but they were the only options that didn't have my skin crawling. I got on line, struggling with my bags all the way, and placed my order and paid. Then, I returned back to my seat with the food, looking around guiltily and hoping no one would see me eat. I felt so embarrassed... did I really need the food?

Sitting down, I opened the lid to the yogurt and scooped out a spoonful with my plastic spoon. As soon as I brought it to my lips, I immediately spit it out. It was sickenly sweet — probably loaded with fat and sugar. Cringing, I tried to scoop some fruit from the bottom, only to realize it was covered in some sort of syrup, and without thinking I hopped up and tossed the entire yogurt cup away in the trash.

I felt my face grow hot and my eyes began to tear as the reality of the situation dawned on me. I couldn't even have a simple breakfast without having a near panic attack. My heart was racing and I was sweating, and at this point all I wanted was to get on the plane and take my sleeping pill and wake up somewhere else — anywhere but here.

Or, if I was being honest, I wanted Harry. To tell me it was going to be okay. To help me pick out some sort of food I would be able to eat. To eat with me. To comfort me. To love me.

But I knew harry wasn't the solution. I knew that I needed to begin recovering on my own, to learn the skills I needed to be independent again. To stop relying on Harry for everything. I guess it was selfish, or maybe it was because I was so in love with him, but I just wished that Harry could come with me to England. Even for a just a few days, to see me off and visit me in the hospital a few times. But I knew that was impossible, and I shouldn't wish things like that.

I needed to be on my own.

Sighing, I brought the coffee to my lips, my heart rate slowing as I realized it had very little milk in it — hence very little calories. That wasn't a good thing, that was a disordered thing. But at least I wasn't panicking anymore, at least I was calm. As I sipped on the coffee, I went to grab a book from my backpack. And that's when I noticed Harry had packed a bunch of little healthy snacks in my carry on, like granola bars and fruit. Safe foods.

This is why I fucking loved him.

I grabbed a granola bar from the bag and began munching, reading my book and allowing my jumbled thoughts to unjumble for a little while, letting go and getting lost in the plot...

"Heathrow, Gate 32."

I nearly jumped when I heard them call my flight a little while later. I stood up, grabbed my bags and began to speed walk towards my gate, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in my joints as I did so.

As I waited on line, feeling exhausted and in pain from only five minutes of walking, I made a vow to myself:

When I return back here, I will be healthier, stronger. And I will never be this sick again.

A/N: sorry I haven't been writing authors notes but this chapter really hits home— the part about Louis panicking over food in the food court is something that happens to me often, and I usually end up throwing things out. It's so upsetting because it makes you feel like a failure, like you can't even eat a simple food item. The mental torture is unbearable. Let's hope and pray that little Lou starts to feel better once he goes to England


	22. Discussions

Harry's POV

"Hey, thanks for meeting me, Ni," I said, lazily browsing through the menu. I had just dropped Louis off at the airport and was feeling more lost and confused than I had expected to. Our relationship over the past few weeks has been so tumultuous, so complex. I tried to offer Louis my full support, I tried to apologize, though Louis wasn't having any of it. And somehow, over time, Louis' I-hate-you's turned to I-love-you's and we were getting intimate again.

But there was still no clearcut concept of what we were, of what we had. We both loved each other yes, but we also both wanted to Louis to get better. And that was the priority right now.

"No worries, mate," Niall said with a grin, placing his menu on the table as he decided what he wanted. My eyes lingered on the BLT sandwich with mayo, my absolute favorite, but something inside told me to get a healthier option, perhaps a whole wheat wrap. After all these years, the voice was still there and maybe even more so now that I was immersing myself in Louis' eating struggles.

I told the voice to go fuck itself, and asked the waitress a little while later for the BLT. But I knew there would be guilt after. There always was.

After I placed my order, Niall ordered a pulled pork sandwich and we handed our menus back to the waitress, who was clicking her pen in impatience. When she left us alone, he returned his attention to me. "So how did it go today?" he asked, his facial expression neutral. He probably wasn't sure if he should be happy or sad for me in this moment. Honestly, neither was I...

"It went well. He was sleepy and didn't talk much on the ride over, but he said he's going to keep in touch. Said he loves me. Kissed me too," I explained to Niall with a tiny smile. He watched me intently with his deep blue eyes, grinning when he caught me smile.

" I'm just really gonna miss him, but I know this is for the best. I know he needs help," I continued, hoping to prove to myself that it really was for the best, that there was nothing to be sad about.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm sure you'll miss him, Haz. It's normal. You're allowed to miss him, don't feel guilty," Niall said, reaching across the table and giving me a pat on the shoulder. "Also, that's great you guys ended on such a positive note. Have you spoken about what's next for you two?"

I shrugged. "I really... I haven't been wanting to pressure him. There have been so many ups and downs these past few weeks. Like, we went to get coffee and just talk. And I texted you about how that went... and what I told him... and the sex after. I mean, you know what happened, Ni. Don't wanna repeat myself. But just seeing him so sick, so helpless. He asked me to leave so many times and just ended up collapsing onto my chest and crying. I have to be so gentle with him... he's so delicate..."

Niall nodded and took a sip of his water. Based on the painful expression on his face, it was clear that Niall had experience with the type of fragility I was describing. "I know, mate. It's rough. I remember when you were that delicate. It was like walking on eggshells. One wrong move, one wrong restaurant or comment could send you into a breakdown... I always felt so scared. I never wanted to hurt you," Niall admitted, tiny tears welling in his eyes.

I stared at Niall, almost in shock. I had known my eating disorder had put a strain on my friendships, fuck it had even ended some of them. But I didn't know it had affected Niall this badly. He had never told me that.

"I mean, don't get me wrong lad. I was never upset with you. I knew it wasn't your fault at all. I just felt scared. Like I wanted to help you but didn't know how," he added, his face reddening.

"No, Ni. It's okay. I understand. Thanks for telling that, mate. Honestly, I feel the very same way right now with Lou. And I guess I never realized how fragile and easy to upset I was all those years ago... but thank you for sticking around through it," I said with a teary smile.

This deli/diner wasn't really the ideal setting to be having a heart to heart, but hey, it was happening. Niall was my best friend and if we wanted to hug it out we would. Which is why, in the middle of the diner, I stood up and pulled him into a big bear hug, lifting him off the ground a little for dramatic effect.

"Okay, Styles. I know you're taller than me, but put me down!" Niall cried, hitting my back. I laughed and let him go, returning to my seat to find that the waitress was coming back with our food. Just in time.

"So yeah. I think you should give him some time. No big decisions. He's still trying to learn to trust you again. I would really play it by ear. I know you hate waiting, but it seems smart," Niall said, pouring barbecue sauce onto his sandwich before replacing the bun.

"No. You're right. I'll wait for sure. I don't want to, but it's what Louis needs right now," I said as I took a bite of the BLT. It was so good, exactly what I had been craving. I just wish the voice wouldn't have to ruin the moment by nagging me later when my next meal arrived.

'You had such an unhealthy lunch, get a salad for dinner....' Some days, when I heard my disordered thoughts telling me things like that, I told them to fuck off and ate whatever the hell I wanted. Other days, I wasn't so strong. There are good and bad days in recovery -- and yeah it's been two years, but I'm still fucking recovering from that shit. I was just hoping today would be a good day.

"Exactly," Niall said as he devoured his sandwich. "So what do you say we get pints tonight? I'm going to bring Allie this time. Want you to meet her!"

I nodded, smiling as I remembered Niall's current girlfriend and how highly he had spoken of her. Based on their social media posts, they looked super cute together, but I'm sure they would seem even better together in person.

"Of course. Can't wait, lad!" I said. I smiled at Niall, for a moment feeling nothing but happiness and joy for my friend. I was glad he had a girlfriend, excited that things were finally working out for him, after years of bouncing from one bad relationship to the next. But deep down, I just wished that Louis could be there too to join in the festivities at the bar. Instead, he was 3,000 miles being admitted to an inpatient ward...


	23. Home

Lou's Pov

"Lou!"

I was standing in the airport, a total hot mess with my luggage strewn around me as I struggled with my jacket.

"Fizzy!" I jogged towards her, wrapping her in a hug as my head began to flood with emotions. The last time I had seen her had been mum's funeral. I'm not sure what I was expecting her to look like now, but aside from a slight haircut, she looked exactly the same.

"I missed you, Lou," she said as she hugged back. I could tell based on the way she initially jolted at my touch that she noticed my weight loss. I mean it was sort of impossible to, my clothes were ridiculously big on me. But now, as she held me in her arms, she could feel it. She could feel the sharp bones, the tiny frame. Her big brother, her former protector, was now smaller than her, skin and bones.

"Oh my gosh. You've gotten so ill," she gasped, pulling away from the hug a little while later. Her blue eyes met mine and I watched in shame as they watered. I wanted to tell her I was sorry, that I could explain. But the truth was I couldn't. I don't know how I could have possibly let it get this bad....

"I know," I said, shoving my hands in my pockets and going to grab my suitcase. "I've got it!" Fizzy said, sternly interjecting and taking my bags for me. I hated how fucking helpless I was.

"So Lottie's in the car," she explained as we made our way towards the exit. "We've both missed you so much. We're glad you're back home — even if it's just for a few days before, well, you go away."

Go away.

Yeah, because I was going away. To treatment, to a mental ward. I bit my lip and tried not to grimace as I thought about it. At the time it had seemed like the right thing to do — and it still was. But now that I was here in England it was actually turning into a reality, and the truth was, I was fucking scared.

I had never been to an inpatient treatment facility before — neither had Harry, even at his sickest. He did outpatient programs in the hospital, but never had to stay overnight. The thought of not being able to leave terrified me...

"You Alright, Lou?" Fizzy asked, snapping me out of my toxic thoughts. "Yeah, fine. How are things at home going? How's the job?" I asked her, forcing myself to put on a smile and make small talk. Though we both knew I was just avoiding the deeper issues at hand.

"My job is great! I'm head writer now. And home is good. Lottie has a new boyfriend!" She said with a snarky smile. I giggled, unsurprised, as our sister was a total flirt and always seemed to be with a new man every season.

"Of course she does," I said with a laugh, Jogging a little to keep up with Fizzy. It was getting harder to walk even the shortest distances.

"So we were thinking of all going out to dinner. Is that okay by you? You can pick the place," Fizzy offered, clearly trying quite hard not to upset me. Everyone had been acting that way around me lately. Harry and Zayn too, though they often failed and still upset me anyways. I truly wished I wasn't this sensitive or irritable. It wasn't fair to the people who loved me.

"Yeah. Let's go to that curry place," I said quickly, trying to put a semblance of normality. But as I watched Fizzy's face fall, I realized it was probably a bad idea. That had been mums favorite curry place...

"Actually. Let's get Thai," I blurted out. I felt like vomiting at the thought of heaping bowls of pad Thai, all of those fucking carbs. But I had to reverse the damage I had just done, not just to my sister, but to myself as well.

"Yeah. Thai. You know, Louis, it's okay to talk about her. About mum," Fizzy said quietly, stopping and turning towards me before we reached the doorway. "I miss her."

"I miss her too," I said leaning forward to hug her again. "And I've let her down. I really need to get better, Fiz... I can't do this anymore..."

I was crying now, and I never cried in front of my sisters. Not even when mum was at her sickest, not even when Harry and I broke up. I was the oldest and I was supposed to be the one holding everyone together, the strong one, the caretaker. But now I was none of those things — now I was the one who needed help.

"Lou, I'm so sorry this happened to you— we should have been there, we should have came to visit, to see you...." Fizzy choked, sobbing into my shoulder. She was trembling a little, and I grabbed her arms tightly, trying to steady her.

"It's okay, Fiz. It's gonna be okay..." I said. I just kept repeating it, hoping that maybe if I said it enough times it would actually be true.

A/N: short chapter but just showing the family dynamics here! So sad, especially since it's the first time she's seeing him like this. A lot of times people think it's their fault that their loved one got sick with an eating disorder— or that they could have stopped it had they known. But it's really not the case, it just happens and it's no one's fault. And most times it's not preventable.

Also.... Do u want more family stuff? Should I show the dinner? Or just send him off to rehab? Such a sad question... also, do you want more of Zayn? He sort of disappeared after the blowout.


	24. Lapse

Harry's Point of View

One of the worst things in the world is having to pretend to be happy when you're hurting so badly inside. And that was how I was feeling tonight, as I sipped on beer after beer, hoping that eventually I would be drunk enough to put on a smile.

"So Alex just got her masters in hospitality," Niall said, smiling and throwing his hand around his girlfriend, a petite brunette with soft brown eyes and olive skin. "That's great," I said absentmindedly. I forced the corners of my mouth upwards to Form a smile, directing my attention at Alex and trying to ignore the empty space in the booth next to me.

"What...um... what hotel do you work at?" I asked in an attempt to continue the conversation. I watched Niall, who was just so enthralled in Alex he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her. I hadn't seen him look at a girl that way before in the past... Tipsy or not, it was so clear based on the way he caressed her shoulders and kissed her forehead that he was deeply in love with this girl. And I should have been trying to get to know her better... and i did want to. I really did. It was just.... it was...

Lou.

It was always Lou. I couldn't stop thinking about him. I couldn't stop wondering if he got there safe, if he would call me... if he could call me, if I would ever see him again. An old therapist once told me I tend to catastrophize things, you know, blow them out of proportion in my head, turn mountains into molehills. And I knew that. Logically, I knew I was just being paranoid.... but my passion for Louis was too strong, And my mind refused to follow logic. I was just too overtaken by my emotions.

Speaking of emotions, I hadn't been doing well lately. After the BLT situation this afternoon, I found myself body checking in the bathroom when I got home. And if being honest, I didn't like what I saw— at all. Since all the Louis drama had been going on, I had stopped working out since I didn't have time anymore between visiting him and going to work. It was only a few weeks, and I didn't think it would make too much of a difference, but it did. And I wasn't just imagining it. My pants were visibly tighter, a tiny layer of fat peaking out over my jeans. And just to prove that my body had changed, I decided to weigh myself.

I shouldn't have. I know I shouldn't have. I shouldn't even really own a scale, but once I got a handle on my weight, I felt like I could trust myself with a scale again, just to track my fitness progress— or so I told myself.

Until now, I had been okay with weighing myself. I knew my weight fluctuated from the day to day, and I only really used it once and a blue moon— not every day like I did when I was underweight. But now, my bare feet pressing against the cold metal, I felt like I was flashing back to my former self, my sicker self. And it was terrifying.

The number was not good. 175. It was normally 168-170. Not too much a difference, but enough to bother me. Enough to awaken the voice, to get my eating disorder riled up.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed the scale back under my bed and wiped the tears away, not allowing myself to cry over this. 'This is not a big deal,' I told myself. 'There's no need to change my diet. I'll just get back to my workout schedule and things will even out.'

And I wanted to believe that, but the voice had other plans. 'Oh my god, you're so fat. Fuck no. You have to lose this weight now,' the voice growled. 'Don't drink tonight! Liquid calories.'

But I went out drinking anyways. Not that I was happy about it. I felt guiltier and guiltier with every sip I took, until eventually I gave up, and just decided to stop caring. I couldn't take the static in my head anymore, the two voices fighting over what I could and couldn't do.

And now I was sitting here trying to quell my guilt over the beer and missing Lou and worrying about my body.... and in the midst of all that, I wasn't listening to a god damn thing Alex was saying about the hotels. Fuck.

"That's really cool," I said, hoping it would be a good enough response for someone who had been pretending to listen. She nodded and smiled, sort of giving me an odd look, her sharp eyebrows furrowed. I guess I had answered too quickly — or too vaguely. Honestly, things were getting blurry now and my inhibitions were lessening. I decided to just abandon ship with this conversation. I would try to get on her good side another night.

"Sorry, excuse me, I'm just gonna step out for a smoke," I said lazily, stumbling a little as I got up and headed out the door. You never know how drunk you are until you stand up. Niall always used to tell me that and it was true. The dizziness was suddenly setting in and so was the sleepiness. I just wanted to go home and cuddle in bed with....

Well, I guess I couldn't anymore. He was gone You know.

"Haz?"

A little while later, who knows how long, I heard Niall's voice out on the terrace. I wondered what the hell he was doing here because, like, why? Wasn't his hot date inside? Alexa or Lexi... what was her name?

Niall was facing me now, looking into my eyes with a concerned expression. "Are you okay? You're getting hammered," he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Alex and I have only had like two drinks so far."

I nodded, taking another drag of my cigarette and trying to remember how to act sober. "Yeah, Yeah.. I'm good," I said quickly. But Niall knew. He always knew. "Mate. Is it about Alex? I'm sorry I asked you out here to meet her when you just went through all that with Lou. Honestly, I didn't think it through...." he said, his face reddening a bit in embarrassment.

Lou. Oh fuck. Why did he have to mention the love of my life?

"Yeah, it's... it's partially that I miss him, you know all the drinking. I want him to be here to like double date. Double the fun," I told him, giggling. "But it's other stuff too. I haven't been good lately."

Niall raised an eyebrow, lighting a cigarette of his own. "What else is wrong, mate?" He asked. He looked so scared for me. Like I was gonna jump off the building or something — but I wasn't. He was always overprotective.

"I, just. Body image. I gained weight lately— trying not to freak about it, but it's hard. I feel so gross, and... I don't know if I can lose it without like, starving.. I just. The voice is coming back stronger now... I don't know why," I babbled, turning my head to hide my embarrassment.

Niall nodded, his eyes darkening. "Okay. Well it's okay, lad. You don't need to lose it. You look great and you're healthy. I know it's tough. Super tough. But maybe you can go back to therapy and see if they can give you tips and all that, yeah?"

I nodded. But I wasn't thinking about therapy. I was thinking about how bloated my stomach felt and how when I went home that scale was going to read at least 2 more pounds than it had before. And how I should probably get this stuff out of me.....

I leaned over the balcony, but Niall put his hand up, blocking my chest defensively. "Please don't," he said, almost a whisper. "Haz, Please. You've gotta stay strong, if not for me, for Louis. Let's get you some water, yeah?"

I stepped back from the terrace, rubbing a hand over my stomach and grimacing. "Haz, you're just bloated from the beer. It's happening to me too, look," he said, lifting his shirt to reveal his stomach, which was normally toned and flat, now puffy and distended.

"When you wake up in the morning, it'll be back to normal. It's just one night of drinking, Haz. You don't do it often. It won't have an effect," Niall continued, putting a hand on my shoulder. I was listening to him, processing the words. I believed him. I knew he was right. But the voice wouldn't shut up. It never did.

"I'll have a water, yeah," I finally said, stepping away from the terrace and putting out my cigarette on the ground with my heel. Niall smiled and put an arm around me, pulling me into a side hug.

"You'll be Okay, Hazza. So will Lou. And you'll be together again soon," he said, patting my shoulder. "I promise."

A/N: damn shit is getting real. Harry is me. 100%. I don't know why I'm making everyone spiral outta control. I promise it'll get better for them soon.


	25. Losing Freedom

Louis' Point of View 

It's hard for me to remember what happened during my first day in the hospital -- the first week even. I've tried so hard to repress it from my memory, but bits and pieces from that day still linger, still hurt.

I vividly remember entering the hospital. I was wearing black joggers and a black T-shirt and hoodie, hoping that maybe if I bundled up enough, I wouldn't appear as sick as I was. Not that I could fool them. The nurses would quickly force me to strip down and hop on the scale, recording my starting weight, that dreadful number that indicated how gravely ill I was for my height and age. 

I hugged Lottie and Fizzy goodbye, our faces dripping with tears as we huddle together into a weeping mess. It sort of felt like I was going away to war or something like that. And in a way, I was. I was going to war with myself -- I was going to war against these awful thoughts which dragged me down and kept me so sick and starved, even when all I wanted to do was eat and get better. 

Eventually, a nurse came and got me, breaking up the hug and directing me inside. I waved to my sisters through the glass windowpane of the hospital door, hoping the next time I saw them I wouldn't look like this anymore. 

The first thing they told me to do was take off my clothes and put on a medical gown. When I was done, they strapped a medical bracelet on my arm with my name and prognosis. Tomlinson, Louis. Anorexia nervosa. 

The very first stripping of my freedom. It would be one many. 

Next came tests -- all kinds. Height, weight, blood pressure, heart rate, bloodwork. I was poked and prodded so many times I started to feel faint. I might have passed out. I did a few times during my stay in the treatment center. The combination of my fear of needles and my low blood sugar were enough to knock out me out. 

So much fun. 

I don't know how that day quite went. Maybe I went to therapy first and then ate, maybe I ate and then went to therapy. Maybe I didn't go to therapy at all and just did meditation or a craft that day. It didn't matter. It was always the same. Slow, monotonous. Lifeless. 

Just like me.

One of my sharpest memories are those of the other patients. They were almost all female, with the exception of a boy named Thomas, who was about 17 and did a brief stint towards the end of my stay. He used to be a track athlete but took overtraining too far. By the end of it, he was so sick he needed a wheelchair. I tried not to interact with him. I didn't want to be rude, but it was too painful to look into his pale, withering face. Part of me wished I could be that sick. 

The other patients were women, aged anywhere from 16 to 31. Kassie was my favorite and we became friends for a while. She had bulimia, something which I could hardly understand. Sure, I did the purging part every now and then when I was feeling gross. But bingeing was something I could never allow myself to do -- even when I was truly starving. 

Kassie and I used to have this deal where she would eat my food if I could stall the bathroom attendant for her so she could purge. It was so toxic, looking back, we were just feeding each other's bad behaviors. But desperate times call for desperate measures. 

Speaking of desperation, I don't think I've ever felt more hopeless than I did during meal time. I can't stress enough how torturous it was for me to eat those meals in the state I was in. I wasn't even sure it was humane for them to make me eat that much right away. I'm pretty certain they were supposed to slowly up my calorie count over time. 

But they didn't. 

The rule at the facility was that every patient needed to eat 3000-3500 calories per day. They called in Minnie Maude, some sort of refeeding schedule. Keep in mind, 3000 calories is a lot of food for anyone -- most people eat 2000 calories a day. But for me, who was just barely keeping down two meals a day, most times less, it was an absolutely gigantic portion. 

My first meal there had been during lunch hour, and I had hardly been able to make a dent in it. It was fish and chips of all things. Two large fried fish fillets with half a plate of crisps. There was also a salad on the side and some sort of creamy soup -- for "dairy" as they told me. 

As if the sheer calorie density of the meal wasn't enough to put me over the edge, the food was fried in oil, which just about had my stomach crawling. I wanted to vomit on the spot. 

During meals, all the patients sat at this long, rectangular table, with two or three nurses stationed around the table watching as we ate. I remember seeing all these girls, pale and skeletal and bundled in hoodies, staring at the food just like me. The difference was, they eventually ate it. Slowly, but they finished it. 

I just stared and stared and kept staring, wondering when the nightmare would end and they would take the plate away and give me something else -- or preferable, excuse me from the meal. But they didn't.

"Louis, you're gonna have to eat, please," a nurse said sternly after a while. 

"I just... I want to. But it's my first day. This is really a bit much for me to stomach..." I stammered, trying as best as I could to get out of it. 

"All the patients have to finish their meals. If you don't, you get the feeding tube. Did you read our rules and regulations?" she replied, raising an eyebrow. She placed a pamphlet next to me on the table and pointed to the regulations section. 

In the case that a patient is in a life-threatening state and refuses food, we have the authority to administer a feeding tube at our own discretion. 

I snorted, pushing the pamphlet away quickly. 

"I checked your numbers. You are in a life threatening state," the nurse said. She pushed the plate closer to me, causing my stomach to churn. 

Cringing, I picked up a fry and began to eat it, visualizing the catastrophic feeding tube experience that I had gone through the last time I was in the hospital. This food was disgusting, but the feeding tube was worse -- an entire loss of control. I wasn't going to allow that to happen again. 

It took nearly an hour for me to finish the fish and chips. If I was being honest, chips tasted so good after not having had them in a year. But they were so dense and oily that I began to feel extremely full after just a few bites. With no other choice but to keep going, I forced the rest of them into my mouth, nearly gagging as they travelled down my throat and into my stomach.

The fish was even worse. At this point I was so full I thought I might vomit. 

"I really feel ill," I said to the nurse, my voice squeaking. She nodded. "You can take a break," she said, handing me a glass of water. I sipped on it, though all it really did was fill me up further. 

Then, I just sat there for a half hour, with this awful, uncomfortable, bubbling feeling in the pit of my stomach. They confiscated my phone upon arrival, so I had nothing to do but sit and think about how much I had just consumed. It was lovely. 

Eventually, my break was up and I had to finish the fish. My spirit was broken, and I was just shoveling the food down hastily as this point, praying that it would all be over soon. I breezed through the salad -- thank God it was just lettuce with mixed vegetables and no dressing. 

Sighing, I moved onto the soup, swiftly scooping up each spoonful so I could just fucking be done. 

When I finally finished, all the other patients were gone, and I was alone with the nurse, staring, disgusted, at my empty dishes. I couldn't believe I had just done that. It had to be at least 1000 calories in one sitting....

Of course my initial thought when I got back to my room was to purge. But that was abruptly sabotaged when the same nurse came in to "monitor" me. "

"You're new, and this isn't my first time in the rodeo. I can tell when someone's about to purge," the nurse said, taking a seat in the chair next to my bed. I grimaced and began to wonder if this would be a regular thing. I thought that at least my room was going to be private. 

"Have to use the bathroom," I said, wincing in pain over the sharp pains now shooting through my stomach. The nurse nodded, getting up to escort me. I shook my head. "I can go alone," I said, giving her a dirty look. 

"Have to monitor you. No one goes to the bathroom unattended," she explained, using the same stern voice. I rolled my eyes, not caring anymore about manners, and followed her out, nearly doubling over in pain as I made my way towards the bathroom. 

The bathroom was a single-person one, so the nurse followed me in and stood in the corner as I lifted up my gown and aimed into the toilet. I didn't really have to go to the bathroom -- what I wanted to do was lean over the toilet and vomit until I saw nothing but clear. But that wasn't an option right now -- or ever again, apparently. 

When I finished, we exited the bathroom, and I started to fall forward, clutching my stomach in pain. "Are you alright?" the nurse asked, grabbing my arm to steady me before I hit the ground. "I feel really ill," I said through gritted teeth. 

"Pain is normal the first week or so. Your body will adapt," she said robotically. How empathetic. 

"Well I feel like about a thousand knives are stabbing me in the gut," I said, slowly following her back to my room. 

"Yes, that happens with all our patients. It's just gas and bloating. You need to re-adapt to digesting foods," she explained, taking her seat at her chair. My face fell as she said that and I looked down to find my stomach swollen to the size of a fucking beach ball.

Oh. My. God. 

I had about a million thoughts going through my mind in that moment -- how fucking fat I was, how much pain I was in, how gross I felt, and most importantly, how badly I had to vomit -- not even out of desire, but out of necessity. Grimacing, I laid down on my bed and put my knees up to my chest, trying to resist the urge to sob profusely.

I'm going to fucking kill this nurse, I thought to myself. Fucking kill her....


	26. Improving

Harry's POV

Two weeks went by without hearing whether or not Lou was okay. Two whole weeks. But even when I found out, it wasn't from him. It was from Fizzy, his sister. She texted me over Facebook messenger:

"Hey, Harry. Sorry Lou has taken so long to get back to you. He just started treatment last week and things have been hectic. He's been doing okay so far, though there's lots to adjust to still. They don't have access to electronics, but if you send me your # I can have him call you during his free hour. He said he misses you and loves you. Thanks for taking care of him these past few weeks."

I felt my face grow red and warm as I read the message. These past two weeks had been full of anxiety. I could hardly sit at my desk at work without constantly checking my phone to see if he had called or texted. Eventually I started switching my phone off because I was going so insane checking.

Finally, thank god, Fizzy had at least given me a semblance of peace. Louis was okay. He was safe. And there all I wanted to hear.

Though, deep down I knew he wasn't entirely safe in the full meaning of the word. He probably wouldn't be for a while, at least not until he started putting some serious weight on. Right now he was just so sick, so weak. So fragile.

I quickly texted Fizzy back with a thank you message and sent along my phone number, hoping to hear from Lou soon, though I knew it would probably be quite a while before he'd be able to call me.

Then, I left headed out of my flat, locking my door behind me as I headed off to my appointment.

The subway was packed, but it was a Saturday afternoon, and that's what you can expect in New York on the weekends. I wedged myself into an empty seat, my long leggings coming up to my chest as I tried to fit into the narrow space between two other passengers. I much preferred leg room, but there wasn't much of it in this city.

When I finally got out of the subway, I took a deep breath of fresh air, expelling the musty subway toxins from my lungs. Then I headed down the street and entered a tall brown building. 212 East 52nd.

"Harry, it's been a while," Karen said with a smile. My therapist was about 40 with short brown hair and thin lips, always painted a pale pink color.

"It has been. Good to see you," I said taking a seat in the soft armchair across from her. I was feeling a bit nervous. Therapy was never my strong suit. At my sickest, I refused to open up to Karen about anything at all. Over time, I became less resistant and began to share more. But sometimes I wondered if I was sharing too much...

"So how are you? what brings you back to New York?" She asked, crossing her legs. I nodded and swallowed before starting my story. It was a lot for me to process.

"I'm doing okay, thanks. Job placement. I'm doing a 6 month training stint out here. But I actually reconnected with Louis...." I began, deciding to just fuck it and share everything at once before I could regret it. "He's, um. Not well. His mum died last year... we didn't talk for two years after we broke up. So I didn't know. And he's, well, he's anorexic."

The word felt unnatural on my tongue, like I shouldn't be saying it. It never did feel okay to say. It was such a serious word — such a depressing word. I never liked using it, or even hearing it. Especially when I was sick.

Karen nodded with wide eyes, jotting something down in her notebook.

"He asked me to meet up to see if I could help with a business deal that would save his job. Only that and nothing more. Wanted nothing to do with me. And I did it, but he got fired anyways. He got really drunk and when I called him, I could tell it was bad... so I went over. Just to check on him. He was throwing up everywhere. I called the ambulance and I spent almost all my time with him for the next week in the hospital. He had damaged his esophagus... it was bad..." I tears now, and reached for a tissue. I was a little ashamed, but I didn't care. I cried in this office before over less serious things.

"He still didn't want me around him. Because he said I hurt him too much and he couldn't trust me. Eventually he went home. And then my friend Niall said to tell him how i felt. So i asked him to coffee, and i told him. And i apologized for everything, even though I can't really make up for what I did. I told him I loved him," I continued, my voice cracking a bit. "He said we could be friends, nothing more. Invited me back over. And he came onto me hard. We had sex — he initiated. Said I love you after."

My heart started to hurt as I reinvisioned the memories, as I thought about the way Lou had looked at me with those big blue eyes as he told me he loved me for the first time in two years. About how I held him on my chest like i had never left. About how no matter what — no matter how sick he was — he would always be the most beautiful thing in the world to me.

"I, um... yeah. But shortly after we fought. Over food. He wanted to purge and I tried to stop him and he bit me. Told me to leave. It was bad... but i didn't leave. I stayed with him, held him while he slept. He's just so sick — worse than I used to be, I swear to it. So gone," I was audibly crying now, taking in deep sharp breaths as I buried my face in my hands. It hurt to think about Louis this way. It made me so incredibly sad, so incredibly scared.

He was dying. My best friend, the love of my life, right before my eyes.

"I'm sorry..." I choked. My therapist shook her head, shooting me an empathetic look. "It's okay," she said in a concerned tone. "Take your time."

"I... yeah. He got the idea to go to England. To see his sisters and do treatment. He's there now. I just got a text today saying he's okay... I just... I miss him. I just got him back, but now he's gone.... and i know it's selfish. I know he has to get better, and that's all I want. But I want to be with him...." I continued, my stomach knotting as I realized how guilty and conflicted I felt.

"Thats understandable that you miss him. And so how are you holding up and dealing with all this Harry?" Karen asked, finally interjecting.

"I.... not well. Eating Is getting harder. I've gained weight and it's driving me crazy — all I want to do is lose it.... I nearly purged last night until my mate stopped me. I'm falling back off the wagon...." I said between sniffles. As I said mentioned my weight gain, the voice in my head shouted in anger: "of course you have to lose it you fat fuck!"

"I see. Well, that doesn't sound healthy Harry. There are healthy coping strategies and we can go over those and you can use them to get through this stressful time," Karen said slowly, clicking her pen. "But I'd like to know why you have a scale? And how Louis' anorexia is affecting you — are you triggered?"

I blushed. I knew I shouldn't have a scale. Even after all this time, it would always be dangerous. "I hardly use it. But yeah I should through it out," I said, looking at my shoes. "But.... it is triggering. A little. I will admit that. It's hard to look at him and not want that again — I never ever ever want to be sick again, but part of me craves being so small...."

Karen nodded. "That's Not good. It sounds like this break might be a good thing for you too. It'll give you time to readjust and focus on your own body image and eating. When he comes back, you'll be stronger and ready to tackle the relationship," She said. She was always one for optimism. I wish the world actually worked the way she explained things to me.

"I... yeah. I guess," I said, sighing.

"Harry, you do want to fix this don't you? You're at high risk for a relapse. Let's tackle this before it gets that bad," she said sternly. I wrinkled my brow, annoyed by her assertiveness.

But she was right.

"I know," I said, picking at my nails. "Let's Not let it get that bad. I want to be healthy for Lou."

"Great," Karen said. "Now lets go over some cognitive behavioral techniques..."


	27. Release

Louis' Point of View

There is nothing more torturous than seeing your body drastically change before your very eyes. There's nothing more terrifying than gaining weight when you've spent months and months trying to lose it. And there's nothing more uncomfortable than outgrowing clothes, watching the number on the scale go up, watching your body physically take up more and more space.

I've been in treatment for a month and a half now. And the results have been mind-blowing. After just a few weeks, I've began to feel significantly better, both physically and mentally. The pain and fragility of my body is slowly fading, and the voices are still there, but much less. Therapy has helped with that. And eating of course.

Im getting stronger. And I know I should be happy. Logically, I should be grateful and overjoyed that I'm getting better. That I'll probably get out of here soon. But one thing that i absolutely cannot shake is the discomfort of gaining weight, my horrible body image.

I wake up every single day feeling absolutely disgusting, like I want to peel my skin off piece by piece. After spending so long trapped in a skeletal, emaciated body, I have grown accustomed to it. I was used to my bones sticking out, to my thighs being several inches apart, to my stomach being so flat it was was nearly concave.

But now, that wasn't the case anymore. Now, my thighs brushed together when I waked, sending waves of nausea through my stomach. Now, I didn't feel any bones anymore — in fact, I felt fat. Pure fat. And considering I thought I was fat before.... when I was so starved and tiny.... I felt humongous now. Just downright disgusting.

My face was filling out too, which made me want to vomit when I looked in the mirror to brush my teeth. Most days I kept my head down and stared into the sink to avoid my rounding cheeks.

My arms were also growing— they were no longer long and bony, but now wider. Not that they were any more muscular. I was still banned from exercise so the weight was just piling on as extra tissue.... and it disgusted me to no end.

The worst, though, the absolute worst was my stomach. My stomach was something that had always bothered me my whole life. I was never super muscular or toned even before I stopped eating, and even when i lost weight, i still felt extremely insecure about it. But now, it was so bad that I sometimes spent hours In my bed crying just because of it. That's how bad things had gotten.

For many recovering anorexics, or so they've told me, weight tends to go directly to your stomach first to protect your organs since your body has been in starvation mode and has lacked fat for so long. The result? Looking fucking 5 months pregnant... all the time. Every day.

Im not even exaggerating when I say it — and i do exaggerate often. But my stomach noticeably sticks out, even when I wake up in the morning, a situation which is only worsened by the copious amounts of food I'm forced to eat each day.

Speaking of the food, it's getting easier. I don't love eating, and the voice is still there scolding me when they place buttered bread or fried chicken on the table. But it's nowhere near as torturous as my first meal. My body's getting used to eating again — in fact, I'm even getting hungry around meal time, which makes me feel like a failure, but is apparently progress according to these doctors.

Honestly, I don't even know what to think anymore. Without electronics, I spend a lot of time sitting in my room just writing and thinking about what I'm going to do when I get out of here.

I've decided I want to be with Harry, or at least try to be. We've spoken on the phone a few times since I've been in here, thanks to my sister who got me his phone number. But it's clear there's still a lot of distance between Harry and I, even if we do love each other. I'm not sure I can fully show him how much I love him right now. Because I hardly love myself.

"Hey, Lou. How's it going?" Harry had asked me last week on the phone.

"I... better? I guess. Physically. Everything just seems to blur together. I'm getting my strength back. But mentally I sometimes just want to lie down and die. Body image is just bloody awful. It's so hard...." I admitted, cringing as I crossed my legs and felt my thighs brush together. I was so disgusting....

"Body image is the hardest part," Harry said softly. "I know ir feels hopeless but i promise you, you'll feel better eventually."

I rolled my eyes and snorted. What specific advice.

"Is it better for you?" I asked, resisting the urge to see if I could still fit my fingers. around my wrist.

"It's... it's up and down for me. But yes much better than when I was ill," Harry said. His voice seemed far off, like he was thinking of something else.

"Up And down? Is now an up or a down?" I inquired. I hadn't known Harry was feeling insecure as of lately. He looked so muscular and toned, and ate with ease. I felt stupid for not noticing if there was a problem.

"I... yeah I gained a few pounds since stopping the gym lately. Kind of killed my confidence a little but I've been working through it. I've been doing meditation and self love stuff... sounds silly. Bur it's been working," he said with a nervous laugh.

"Oh well Haz, you really look great no matter what. But I can see how that's tough," I replied, the guilt settling in. "We do meditation and self love and mantras and art therapy here and I still can't get over this bloody stone and a half weight gain."

Harry laughed. "You will though, Lou. Maybe that's not the way you're gonna get over it. But you will. Maybe through writing or something else," he suggested.

I was going to say something else when I felt the nurses gloves hand on my bank. It had been 15 minutes. My phone time was up.

"Sorry, Love I have to go," I said. "I love you."

"Love you too, Lou. Hang in there," Harry said. I hung up the phone and returned to my bed, grimacing as I felt how soft my body was getting.

Now, as I sat in my room once again, I started to take what Harry had said into mind. Maybe writing would be my way to get through this. Ir was the only thing that actually relaxed me or interested me in this god foresaken hell hole. Maybe it was worth a shot.

Picking up my pen, I began to scribble a couple of phrases into my notebook...

Harry. Louis. Love.   
Anorexia.

Staring at the words, I chewed my pen a little then I decided on "the disease that tore us apart." That would be the title


	28. Surprises

Harry's Point of View

"Hey."

I don't think I've ever been more more nervous for anything in my life. I was standing there in the apartment building, a light jacket draped around my shoulders and my hands digging a bit too deeply into my black skinny jeans. I stared at the floor, rubbing the heel of one of my boots over the other. Then I looked back up at him.

Lou was only just barely peeping out of the door. I could only see half of his face. We made eye contact through the narrow opening in the door he had made. I looked into that one eye, hoping for a sign, any sign, that he wanted me there. 

When he realized it was me, he opened the door wider. He seemed hesitant -- jerking a bit as he revealed himself. I knew it was hard, knew he probably didn't want me to see his new body. But it was all I wanted to see -- I just wanted to know that he was okay, that he was better.

"Hey, Harry... what -- what are you doing here?" he stammered. He was wearing a pair of black Adidas joggers and a white T-shirt, his usual around the house loungewear. I even remember him wearing that outfit when I was taking care of him. But now it looked so much b e t t e r.

He looked better -- everything about him was better. His face wasn't so thin and pale anymore. He had some color to his cheeks now, and it looked like his hair was growing in more thickly now, falling into his eyes a little like it used to. His arms were getting muscular again, and so were his legs. Don't get me wrong he was still thin, he wasn't fully weight restored. But he was so much healthier than he had been.

"Surprise!!" I said awkwardly, waving out my hands and jumping around a little. I thought it would be a cute introduction to my visit, but based on Louis' stone-faced expression, it didn't seem to be too fitting.

"I wanted to come see you. I know you got discharged a few weeks ago, and I know I should've called but I just missed you so much, Lou. So I decided to surprise you," I continued, my voice cracking a bit from emotion. "There's something I want to tell you."

It was true. Louis had just got out of the treatment center a few weeks ago after doing 2 months of the predicted 3. He had done really well, and now he only had to go to outpatient programs two times a week. I was so proud of him, and that's part of why I was here.

"I, yeah, I mean come on in," Louis said, gesturing for me to come inside the flat. I thought about hugging him -- kissing him even. But he didn't seem to want that. Right now, he looked super freaked out to see me, his eyes sort of bugging out of his head and an awkward smile plastered to his lips. I was starting to rethink whether or not this had been such a good idea.

"I..um... hey," Louis said, leaning forward to hug me mechanically as I came inside, as if he had forgotten an important chore. The hug felt sort of cold, limp. Like his heart wasn't in it.

"Are you okay?" I asked, patting his back and quickly recoiling.

Louis shoved his hands in his pockets, motioning for me to follow him to the little green couch in the living room area. "I, yeah. I just haven't seen you in a while," Louis said, taking a seat. "Or rather, you haven't seen me in a while..." He motioned towards his body, his face reddening.

"I mean I know it's illogical. I weighed even more than this when we were dating. I'm still underweight, still have to gain another stone. But, I just feel gross. If that makes sense. Like embarrassed of my body.... I don't mean to be.." he looked as his hands, fumbling with them a bit as if there were answers hidden inside.

"Yeah, no. Don't worry. I completely understand, it's really hard to get used to physical changes. The body heals faster than the mind," I said, my mind flashing back to the dark times I had gone through readjusting to my new body. It had been far from pleasant. Some days I would lock myself in the bathroom at work and just cry and cry. Even Louis didn't know about that.

I took a seat next to him, not too close. I wished I could hold him, caress him, comfort him. But I knew better than to be so careless. I needed to be receptive of his needs right now.

"Yeah, that's very true. I hardly recognize myself. I mean it's good -- I know I'm changing in a good way. But it damn scares me. I had gotten so used to that skeletal frame, that thigh gap. It feels so unnatural now. Just uncomfortable," he admitted, looking up at me. I could sense the pain in his eyes. They were watering a little. Not noticeably, but I could still tell. I could always tell.

"And the clothes," he continued, shaking his head. "They're just..." He didn't have to finish the sentence I knew. "Yeah, the worst," I replied, putting a hand gently on his shoulder. "But they were so small, meant for children. It's better to toss them out."

Louis nodded. "Yeah, I just. I'm sorry Harry. I'm just rambling. How are you?" he asked, returning to his attention to me. He ran his hands nervously through his hair, as if by fixing it, he could help resolve the tension in the air too.

"No, no. It's fine. It's good to talk. Tell me anything you like. I could go on and on," I said, laughing nervously. My stomach was starting to hurt deep within the core, nausea snaking it's way into my body. "But, I've been well. Been going to therapy and feeling a lot better about my coping mechanisms and all," I added.

Louis nodded, though his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere, an absent-minded look forming on his face. "That's good. Glad you've been well," he said, avoiding eye contact. "And how's work?"

I started to answer, but Louis interrupted me. "I'm sorry, Harry, honestly. Honestly, I can't do this," he said, shaking his head. "I--I'm not ready. I'm not ready for you to see me, I'm not ready to see you... I just. I feel out of my mind disgusting right now and I really don't think I can be with anyone for a long time...until I learn, like, how to deal with this. Because right now I'm just crying every day and going to therapy and trying to work part time doing freelance but I keep getting writers block..."

He was standing up now, anxiously pacing back and forth on the hardwood floors as he vented to me. "I, just, Harry. I know you mean well and thank you for coming. And thank you for calling and for helping me through all of this. But... I just... I can't love you right now. Because I hardly love myself," he continued, tears streaming down his newly filled out cheeks. "Like fuck. I know I sound so stupid and dramatic... and like ungrateful. I want to, I want to be with you, but I just can't... I can't do this anymore..."

Wow. Just wow.

As I watched Louis start to fall apart in front of me, my heart started to sink. And I started to realize that maybe I was the selfish one in this situation. Here I was coming to England to tell Louis I was going to move here to be with him, if that's what he wanted of course. Here I was going to make this big romantic gesture, to tell him I wanted to be with him, no matter what. But was that really the right move to make when Louis was struggling with something serious?

And was I even doing this for him? Or was I doing this to prove something to myself? To be some sort of hero? To make up for past sins?

"I.... It's okay, Louis. I'm so sorry I overstepped. I know you're going through a ton right now," I said, standing up and taking a few steps towards the door. I genuinely didn't know what to do right now. My entire plan had backfired. And I suddenly felt so selfish and foolish -- and even more importantly, helpless. Because I couldn't even help Louis right now, I didn't even know what to fucking say.

"I... Haz, it's okay. You meant well. I'm just so gross. I'm so gross and I feel gross and it doesn't go away --- I can't turn it off," he said, sobbing into his own hands now. I took a few steps towards him, reaching out my arms to see if he would accept my embrace, but instead he pushed my arms away.

"I can't. I just need to be alone," he sniffled. We locked eyes for a moment and I nodded slowly, watching him collapse on the couch as I shuffled out of the apartment.

I waited for the elevator in the hallway, wiping away tears of my own. I had fucked up so badly, I felt so horrified for what I had just done to Louis. I had essentially traumatized him.

Finally, the elevator door opened, and I took a step forward, hardly looking, only to bump into Fizzy, who was carrying grocery bags.

"Harry?" she asked, her tiny voice even higher than usual.

"I came to visit, Lou," I said, carelessly responding to her questioning tone. "It really upset him. He said he wasn't ready to see me. I'm so sorry. He's crying now. I didn't know. Thought it would be nice, but I guess it was selfish..." I began to cut off, mumbling under my breath.

Fizzy nearly dropped her groceries, a sad look spreading across her face. She had Louis' eyes, and it just seemed to make me more upset.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. He's having quite a tough time. Maybe he'll feel better tomorrow. I'm sure he'll come around," she said softly, stepping out into the corridor.

But her strained smile told me that she knew better -- and so did I. Louis didn't want me around. Not for a very long time. And I had to respect that.


	29. Forward

Louis' POV

Fuck.

Just fuck.

After Harry left, I instantly regretted what I had done. I felt absolutely awful, sick to my stomach. I couldn't believe I let my body insecurities completely takeover my true desires, I couldn't believe they had caused me to push the person I loved away like that.

I had been wanting to be with Harry for weeks — months even. His phone calls were what was getting me through recovery, the thought of his face were what pulled me through the darkest days when the meals were unbearable and my clothes clung tightly to my skin. And He was hardly all I ever talked about with my therapist, especially when I spoke of the future. "I'm doing this for mum. And for Harry. I want to get better so I can go back to Harry," I would always tell her when she asked what my motivation for recovery was.

Come to think of it, It was crazy how much my love for Harry grew while I was in recovery. The better I got, the more I realized how irrational and ungrateful I was being when I refused to let him help me. When I refused to let him call 911; when I hardly spoke to him on the way home from the hospital. I was just so sick and my judgment was so clouded at the time— I couldn't see how thoughtful he was being, how much he cared.

During treatment, I really began to work on forgiving him and trusting him again. I learned to stop questioning and to start believing. Because if he didn't care for  
Me the way he said he did, there was no way he would still be in my life right now. There was no way he would be calling me in rehab and checking with my sisters and telling me he adored me. And I knew he broke my trust and left Me in the past, but his apology was genuine— his confessions were pure. I believed that he missed me, that he never stopped loving me. I don't think I stopped loving him either.

Given all of this, it made no sense as to why I would break down when Harry actually came to see me. I should have been happy — ecstatic even. And I was. I truly was. At first, at least

But the minute he walked through that door frame and we came face to face, the voice in my head told me I was too fat and gross now. That I was unlovable. That I shouldn't touch him. Shouldn't kiss him. Shouldn't even go near him.

So I kept my distance, giving nothing more than a weak hug, and leading him inside and nausea washed over me like a wave. I tried to make small talk, hoping the voice would dull down and go away eventually. Hoping that maybe logic would step in and take care of things. But it never did, and as he spoke, my heart began to race and my vision began to blur and I panicked.

I panicked and cried and sobbed and told him to leave. And When he reached out his arms to hold me, I didn't even let him comfort me.

Later. After he left, I felt so fucking selfish. I wish i had just pushed past my thoughts and told him how I really felt. How I had wanted him to come all along. How I loved him, so fucking much. But my mind was swirling and the disordered thoughts were suffocating me. I could hardly string the words together, and he left without hearing the truth

Fizzy came inside a little while after he went home. She had seen Harry in the hallway and by the looks of her face, she seemed to be disappointed in me too.

"Maybe you'll feel better tomorrow, Lou. He's still in London for a few days. I can drive you to the café to meet him if you want," She said with a forced smile as she put away the groceries. Salad, eggs, cereal. Tons of boost and ensure. That was for me of course. Those delectable weight gain Nutrition drinks. I felt sick just thinking about them.

"Yeah," I muttered to her, pulling on another sweatshirt to hide my body. I didn't want anyone to see me now. It was as if I were just coming out of my shell, but the moment harry came, I reverted back in.

I guess in retrospect, the reason I freaked out so hard at his surprise is that I just wanted everything to be perfect for him. In my head, The plan was to gain some  
Muscle definition in the coming weeks when I finally got cleared for exercise. For whatever reason, I was starting to become okay with the numbers on the scale, but it was my body composition that was driving me crazy. Muscle was acceptable, but flab wasn't. I just wanted to look perfect for harry. The way I used to when I was healthy and muscular and worked out. I didn't want him to see me like... this.

It was an irrational thought, of course. Driven by anorexia and body dysmorphia. Just a few months prior, I was having sex with Harry at my lowest, when I was so bony and frail and unattractive that harry sometimes closed his eyes to avoid seeing my emaciated state. But according to Ana, my current body was worse. More vile. And as much as I wanted to reject that, it felt so real that I couldn't.

As Fizzy unpacked the groceries, I sat in silence on the couch, wrapping myself in a blanket and allowing the tears to flow. She didn't question it or try to comfort me. This is just how things were now. I was constantly getting emotional, and sometimes it was better to just let me ride it out than to intervene and upset me further.

Eventually, I fell asleep, nodding off from the sleepiness the crying had brought me.

I woke up to the sound of plates clattering on the counter. It was Fizzy serving dinner, which was, by the looks and smell of it, curry. My favorite before I was sick, one of my biggest challenges now.

As I looked at the food, hefty portions of chicken tiki marsala, My stomach lurched and for the first time in a while I thought of starving. Or purging. Or both. I needed something, anything, to get this guilt out of my system. I needed a release.

But Fizzy could see the look in my eye. It wasn't hard to spot when you knew the signs. When you knew your brother was prone to puking his guts out when he felt stressed. Or Skipping endless meals when he didn't feel good enough.

Fizzy walked over, her dainty legs swaying beneath her dress, and wrapped an arm around me.

"It'll be okay, Lou. Try again tomorrow with him. Please don't restrict or get ill tonight. I'll stay with you okay?" She said quietly. It was something I could tell she was uncomfortable with, but was pushing through to help me. My beautiful baby sister, taking care of me, when it should be the other way around.

Looking into her blue eyes, I nodded, sniffling a little. She was right. It wasn't worth throwing away my recovery all because of one mistake. I had to keep pushing, keep going. Even if it was the last thing I wanted to do.

"Okay, Fiz," I said quietly. "Lets go eat."


	30. Choosing Sides

«Harry's POV»

Fuck it, I thought. Just fuck it.

I threw my suitcase across the room in clammer, clothes flying out of the sides as it landed on the floor next to my dresser. I contemplated leaving my luggage behind, but thought better of it. It would seem suspicious if I traveled with nothing, and i wasn't in the mood to be security checked.

8 days. I had been here in London for 8 days. My original trip was only for 5, as that's all the vacation days my job allowed. But I stayed an extra three thinking Lou would come around, thinking that maybe the man who couldn't stop professing his love and appreciation for me would agree to see me, just once, for just one hour, after I had flown 12 hours to come see him.

But no. That was just too much to ask for apparently.

I tried to understand. I tried to emphasize I really did. I know body dysmorphia like an old friend. I know how hard it is, how excruciatingly difficult it makes it to put on your clothes in the morning, how hideous you feel in photos. Fuck, i still feel that way sometimes.

But I also know that you can push past it, and that it's not enough to ignore someone for 8 days. Because even if Lou was struggling with his body, he could cover up in layers, he could go see his therapist. He could listen to me when I fucking tell him he's the most beautiful man in the world. He could do something, anything, but ignore me.

But he did ignore me. And that's what hurt the most — because it told me that it might not just be about body image issues, it might be about me. It might be that he doesn't trust me. That he doesn't love me. And that's just way too heartbreaking for me to handle.

Grabbing my suitcase, I decided to give Louis one last call. I had been texting and calling both him and Fizzy each day just to see if I could come over — or if we could meet for a short time. But the answer was always no.

"I just, i can't today, Harry. I'm trying to work on it. I really am. I made a breakthrough today in therapy," Lou had sniffled on the phone two days ago. "I can't believe I'm doing this to you. You should go, you should just go home."

But of course I didn't. I stuck around thinking he would come around. Because I'm a desperate fucking animal like that.

As I headed out the door, Lou's message machine began to sound, and I resisted the urge to toss my phone across the hall like I did with my suitcase. I didn't get angry often, but when I did, I was volatile, and I could hardly control myself right now.

Im not even going to lie about how I've been coping. I tried to spend time in London like it was a vacation, going to my favorite shops, seeing a play, —next to the empty seat I had purchased for Louis— and visiting the markets. I even met up with some old friends from uni. But even though I was functioning and doing things that should've been fun, i still couldn't dull the emptiness in my chest. And so I skipped meals to help me get by, the empty feeling seeping jnto my stomach and soothing my being, even if it was just for a little while.

It's not to say that it worked, really. It just made me so much hungrier later on in the day, and I would overeat, my body wracking with guilt as I realized I was failing on all fronts — even the one thing I used to be the best at. My inability to starve myself frustrated me beyond belief, and I resisted the urge to purge, knowing that it would just worsen the cycle. Each day felt like pure torture

As I shoved my oversized suitcase into the tiny elevator, kicking it wildly to make it fit, my phone rang in my pocket, the tiny vibrations buzzing on my thigh.

"Hello?" I said answering it with a shaky hand. I stepped into the doorway, preventing the elevator from descending.

"I.. you called?" Louis squeaked. It was hard to be mad at him when he was so cute and vulnerable, but I was holding my ground. He had taken things too far.

"Yes. I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving, Louis. I have to go back to work," I said shortly.

Silence greeted me on the other end.

"Well, that's all I care to share," I snapped. "Take care of yourself."

"I fucked up.... I... can. I come over?" louis begged. His voice was desperate, quivering slightly.

"God damn it Louis you had 8 days! Now that I'm leaving you want me?!" I nearly shouted. I was losing control over my emotions now, but I didn't care. Fuck him if he thought he could just take advantage of me like this.

"I.... fuck, Harry. 8 days is what it took to lose weight to be good enough to see you, and I'm still not good enough, but fuck, I miss you..." Louis stammered, his voice raising an octave.

"You what?" I demanded. "You lost weight to see me? Honestly, Louis. You just took ten steps backwards, there. And there was no reason to lose weight "for me." I want you to gain it.... Jesus, you're so sick can't you fucking see that? You're hurting everyone, you're hurting yourself, you're hurting me!!"

I was crying now, visibly, and people were coming down the hall trying to get into the elevator. Grunting, I grabbed my suitcase and headed down the hall in the opposite direction, opting to take the stairs for fear of losing reception in the elevator.

"I know. I know okay? I've realized how fucked I've treated you since the day you got back to New York — I shouldn't have lost weight but fuck it Harry I'm going god damn crazy here and it's all I could do to keep myself sane. Don't you understand me at all? You were just like me.... just a few years ago... you know I'm not trying to...."

"Here's the thing though," I cut him off. "I. GOT. BETTER. i worked fucking hard and i pushed through it and i got better. With you there. With you helping me. I let you help me, Lou. Do you not remember? I'll thank you for that til the day I die, but don't you dare forget that I offered to be with you every step of the way and you said FUCKING NO."

"Honestly, Harry. You fucking disgust me. Get the fuck out of here, and don't you ever come back. I knew you would leave me again!!" He fumed. He was screaming into my ear, but I didn't pull the receiver away. I liked the pain.

"Im leaving because you pushed me away. I waited 8 days. I'm in trouble at work now, behind on endless deadlines. A client might drop us," I snorted. "I was waiting for you. Because I love you. I thought you'd come around but of course, you push me away."

"Maybe we were never meant to be together at all.... maybe Im meant to be alone," Lou said, his voice falling. He seemed deeply upset now. I almost felt bad, but I didn't.

"Whether or Not we belong together is something we have to figure out. But with Ana in the picture, it seems like there's no room for me," I replied, tears flowing as I said the name of my biggest demon, my worst adversary. It made me sick to know that she now had a grip on Louis too.

"I don't want Ana, Harry. I want you," he said. It was nearly a whisper, but I heard him loud and clear.

"Then prove it," I said. And I clicked off the phone, trudging down the stairs with my suitcase and shoving my phone in my pocket.


	31. Battle

Lou's Pov

I'm not going to sit here and tell you that things worked out with Harry. That he stayed in London and we had a cup of tea and talked and cuddled. That he held me in his arms and told me he loved me. That we got our happily ever after.

Because we didn't. We didn't do any of that. And I'll be the first one to admit it was all my fault.

I don't want to talk about it, or even think about it. But the thoughts replay in my head in repeat and the guilt floods my stomach like a sunken ship. And it hurts. It hurts to think about the things that my eating disorder has taken from me. From the simple things like enjoying a pastry in a coffee shop without worry or going to a birthday party and having a slice of pizza to the more serious ones like being able to spend time with the love of my life.

I am a horrible person.

I took advantage of Harry in every sense of the phrase. And I honestly have never felt guiltier, I've never felt more responsible for my actions. But Ana doesn't understand guilt. She knows the kind that surrounds food, the overpowering gut wrenching shame that comes with eating a bite too many. That, she's a master of. But guilt surrounding people, surrounding family, friends, Love... she doesn't care about that stuff. No. All that matters is that I eat the least I can, that I get the aesthetic I want. That I win the battle against hunger, the battle against shame.

I wish I could sit here and tell you she's gone. That I beat her. That Harry's rejection was enough for me to motivate myself to get better, to fix this.

But it didn't.

Im back in the hospital now. I have a feeding tube. Again. And as I sit in silence with the cold, thick formula running down my throat, I try not to sob profusely as I remember how Harry used to sit and keep me company when I had the tube in New York.

That's not even the worst of it, the tube.   
I've also been on suicide watch on and off, which is awful and disgusting to even admit, because even on my worst day I wouldn't have thought I would betray mum like that. That I would try to take my own life — the life she had given me.

But it happened. I didn't even think when I did it. I just put the razor to my wrist and didn't stop cutting until I passed out. And when I got better I did it again.

And I'm not sorry.

I wish I was. But I want to die. In fact, I welcome death. I know it sounds morbid and emo and fucked up... but i can't function anymore. I can't do this...

But I have to. Of course I see Lottie and Fizzy crying their eyes out behind the door and i think of them having to endure another death and I realize that this is the most ridiculous thing I've ever done in my life.

But I also realize it's not my fault. It's not me — it's my mind, my disorder, my distorted thoughts. It's not Louis. I haven't been Louis in ages. I don't know if I ever will be.

I've been doing psychiatric rehab lately. Really intensive. And I'm getting to the root of things now, they're becoming slightly clearer. I remember doing an exercise the other day where I had to trace how I thought I looked, and I made myself nearly twice the size that I really am... it wasn't that I drew myself incredibly big. It was that in my current state I was so small, barely a person. Looking at the actual outline of my frail, Barely there body, it finally dawned on me how ill I am. How wrecked I am.

I'm so sick I can hardly see it. I'm blind to reality. I'm blind to everything. I'm blind to myself.

I can't tell you that I'm better. I can't promise you I'll get through this, that I'll get to be with harry. That I'll make my sisters feel better. That I'll even live to see tomorrow.

But what I can say is that I'm not giving up. I'm not done here — and every time I said I was going to try my best in the past I lied. But this time I'm not. I promise you that.

Right now, as I sit in my room, bony knees poking into my bony chest, I make myself a pact, which I write down in my journal:

I will recover.

I will eat every meal even if it pains me to do it.

I will go to every therapy session even if I cry through a full box of tissues.

I will tackle every fear food, throw out every razor, and I will sit with my feelings even if it feels like I might die.

Putting the pen down, I look at my work, cringing at how hard things are going to be, but smiling slightly over how determined I am.

Harry said to show him that I want him. Well I'm god damn showing him now.

And if I get out of here — when I get out of here — He will see the truth.


	32. Peace

Harry's POV 

"Hey, thanks for inviting me out tonight," I say with a smile. I'm sitting across Niall at our favorite American diner in Queens sipping on a milkshake like old times. I feel guilty, of course, but not as much. Therapy has been helping, and I've been challenging myself to be more lenient on myself and allowing myself to eat what I want -- not what seems healthiest. 

"No, problem mate," Niall says, grabbing a fry. "I'm glad to see you in good spirits this week." I smiled. Since I last saw -- if you count our two minute interaction as 'seeing' him -- Louis two months ago, things have been really rough for me, and Niall has been there through it all. He's consoled me when I spent hours on the floor crying and blaming myself for everything. He's stopped me from damaging my stuff when I went through fits of rage over how mad I was at Louis. He even got me to see a nutritionist in tandem with my current therapist to double up on recovery efforts. 

Honestly, I owed him so much. 

But as I've started to feel better in recent weeks, the weight of my frustration with Lou lessening more and more, I have been trying really hard to be a good friend to Niall too. I went out with his girlfriend again, this time sober, and worked really hard at getting to know her. It turns out she did a year abroad in Cheshire and actually went to school with my mate's younger brother, which I found to be pretty hilarious -- especially because she described him perfectly: a sloppy drunk with a big hard and an incomprehensible cockney accent.

Now, as Niall and I munched on diner food, I tried my best to listen to his stories, to hear him out. I wanted to make things equal. I wanted to show him that I can take care if him too if he ever needs it. Because that's what friends do. 

But I'd be lying if I said a small part of my mind wasn't still focused on Lou. Wasn't still hoping he would come back into my life. My training program was ending soon and I had to make the decision to stay in New York or return to California in the next two weeks. Without considering Lou, I would go back to California in a heart beat. But there was a tiny part of him that wondered .... what if he came back? What if I lost him again?

But, no. Niall and I had talked it over time and time again. Same with my therapist. And we all agreed that Louis wasn't available, that I wasn't losing him -- he was losing me. He lost himself, and everyone else in his life too. And it's not my responsibility to help him. I already tried so many times. Now it's up to him.

That's what I tell myself at least. Of course, I wish I could help him -- of course I still want to. But honestly, I've done all I can. Now it's up to him. 

"Thanks!" I said cheerily, returning back to reality to answer Niall's question. "I do feel quite chipper. Wanna head back to my flat for video games?" I asked, gesturing for the check. There was nothing left on either of our plates but french fry crumbs and bits of that decorative lettuce. 

"Sure. Madden?" Niall asked, readying his wallet. 

"I got this," I said, laughing and grabbing the check as the waiter came over with it. 

Niall giggled. "Wow, Styles. Are we dating now?" he asked, making a dramatic face and batting his eyelashes. I snorted. 

"In your fucking dreams, Horan," I giggled, placing down the cash and grabbing for my coat. 

Niall rolled his eyes. "You're a tease," he said with a laugh. 

I shook my head and then exited the booth, heading towards the door. Niall followed after me and we walked outside to catch the subway. Luckily, it was just around the corner, so we didn't have to walk far. It was April now, so the weather was rather warm, but the temperatures dropped at night. 

"Oh my god! You bloody cheater," Niall screamed about an hour later, as we sat side by side on my sofa playing Madden in our sweatpants. Niall and I were such good friends that he kept sweatpants at my house for occasions just like these because, well, there's no other way to play videogames but in your sweats. 

"I am not!" I giggled back, though I had clearly hit a control that activated a glitch to stall Niall's players while I made a pass. He was just about to slap me when I heard a knock at the door-- my saving grace. 

"We didn't get delivery did we?" I asked, confused as to why someone would be knocking on the door at my flat. I rarely got visitors, and my neighbors were so infrequently around that they barely existed in my eyes. Who was it, then?

The knock was getting louder now, more aggressive. So I quickened my pace, nearly slipping on the hardwood floors in my socks. 

"Who is it?" I asked, swinging the door open. 

Instantly, my jaw dropped. 

Lou was standing there in the doorway with nothing but a backpack, wearing a white T-shirt and joggers. He stared at me, his blue eyes intense and stubble coating his sharp jawline. 

"Fuck," I breathed, unsure what to say. I stood frozen in place, staring at him in astonishment. My heart was beating rapidly and I blinked a few times just to make sure it was real. 

To my surprise, Louis didn't say anything. He just walked towards me, dropping his backpack on the floor and burying me in a deep hug. 

As I hugged him back, all of the rage and anger and sadness I had been experiencing over the past few months seemed to melt away, fading into the air around me as if it never existed. His strong arms pulled me closely, and suddenly, nothing else seemed to matter. It was just Lou and I, two bodies, once damaged but now strong, united in the doorway of my New York City flat. 

I didn't need to say anything -- he didn't need to say anything. We both just knew. This is what felt natural, this is what felt like home. It always has been home -- even when we were miles apart, months apart, years apart. This is where we would always return to. 

This was love.


	33. Sins

Lou's POV

I didn't even think before I kissed him. We were hugging for so long, our bodies pressed against each other for the first time in what felt like ages. And for once in my life, my mind felt completely blank, turned off, empty.

The walk here had been full of nothing but overthinking and anxiety. I walked past Harry's block three times, each time telling myself it was a bad idea and that I shouldn't do it. Each time, turning back around to try again. When I finally got myself through the doorway and into the elevator, I thought I was going to die. My heart was beating so fast I might as well have just run the New York Marathon and my legs were shaking more than a Chihuahua in the snow.

But when I finally worked up the courage to knock on his door -- and when we finally came face to face -- nothing else mattered. I had been so afraid that he wouldn't want to see me, that he wouldn't like my new body, that he would be downright done with me. But when I saw his face, and green met blue, my body took over and I grabbed him, pulling him into a hug that seemed to explain more than I could ever imagine putting into words.

The hug said: I'm sorry. It said I know I fucked up. It said I missed you. It said I love you, I still do and I always have. It said I'm better. Not 100%, but getting there. It said I'm happier now. It said I'm whole.

Harry's strong chest had never felt so good as it did that day, pressed against me as our arms intertwined. It felt like time had stopped as we stood there, embracing, communicating in this secret language that no one else seemed to know but us.

But eventually, I craved more. I wanted more. I needed him scent, his skin. His body. Leaning onto my tiptoes, I reached up and brought our lips parallel to each other. Instead of kissing him though, I lingered there for a moment, taking him in. His soft green eyes, his floral cologne, the tiny traces of stubble growing back in after a recent shave. His plush pink lips. Everything about him was.... perfect.

Harry made the first move, bringing his mouth to mine. The first bit of contact was the most blissful. I hadn't been intimate with Harry in ages, and suddenly, memories of what we once had came flushing back. Kissing Harry wasn't just kissing -- it was trusting it was loving, it was connecting.

I pushed my lips against his, allowing my tongue to slowly trace the inside of his mouth. As if on cue, his tongue began to brush against mine, sending shivers down my spine, and I deepened the kiss, simultaneously running my hands through his long curls. Harry responded by grabbing me by the waist, swirling his tongue, and pulling me closer.

Normally, this type of touch would make me uncomfortable. Even when Lottie hugged me, I wouldn't let her get remotely close to my waist. But with Harry, I was letting my walls down, I was opening up to him and showing him everything that I was -- that I am -- without fear of embarrassment.

Because as we connected like this, as he held me tightly, running his hands up and down my torso, I knew that he loved me unconditionally. I knew that he didn't care about my insecurities or flaws, that they were just worries of mine that I had been projecting onto him. And most importantly, I knew that he was mine.

"I love you," I whispered, pulling away for a second to take a breath.

"Love you too," Harry responded, placing one hand on the arch of my back. I shivered, as small tingles passed down my back. Leaning forward, I continued to kiss him, chewing on his lower lip a little as we made out. I knew he liked it rough.

"Fuck, Lou," Harry moaned into my mouth. His eyes were closed and his lips were parted, and I knew now that neither of us could resist. I pushed Harry towards the door frame -- an act which surprised us both, because I finally had the strength to do that now -- but I felt him resist.

"No... Lou.." he said, a hint of worry in his voice. I raised an eyebrow, unsure what he was getting out. And that's when I heard footsteps approaching the doorway.

"Who was it mate? You've been out a while!" Niall called, jogging to the door. When he saw Harry and I in the doorway, his long arms still tangled around me, and both of our lips red from passionate kissing, he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"I will get my stuff and get out," he said shortly. He shot Harry a sympathetic look and then looked at me with a small glare.

Coming down from the high of our dizzying kiss, I quickly began to realize that Niall didn't support this relationship -- and that Harry probably hadn't either up until I got here and bewitched him with my pheromones.

Fuck, I hadn't even offered an apology -- I just started kissing him.

"Honestly, no it's okay. I'll go. I came unannounced," I said, stepping out of Harry's grip and going to grab my backpack.

Harry grabbed my arm. "No, don't go. Lou. Please, I want you to stay, "he said, his voice raising an octave. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, giving Niall a look that sort of said 'dude, not cool!'

Niall sighed and nodded, heading back into the TV room to get his stuff. Honestly, I don't ever remember Niall having a problem with me and Harry together. He had even begged Harry to stay in New York too when he was thinking of leaving for California, and we had always been friends. But I guess after what happened between Harry and I in London, he wasn't my biggest fan anymore. And I couldn't blame him.

But what I wanted to show Harry -- and Niall too if I have to -- was that I was different now. Is that what I did then is not reflective of what I will do now moving forward with my life. It was my rock bottom, my lowest moment. And I would be damned if I let people make judgments on me based on that.

"Lou," Harry said as I followed him into the apartment. "I'm proud of you." His eyes were sparkling as he said it, and he patted me playfully on the shoulder. I could tell he was unafraid now -- that he wasn't scared to hurt me anymore. My disease had taken so much from me, but it had also taken so much from Harry, making it hard for him to even get close to me without worrying.

"Thank you, babe," I said, smiling and melting into his strong arms. "Worked hard."

"I know you did," he replied, planting a kiss on my forehead. I missed those forehead kisses. He would give them to me in the hospital sometimes when he thought I was sleeping. I never was, but I loved them all the same, though I would never tell him that at the time.

"Please, use your judgment. Both of you. There's no need to rush into things," Niall said as he headed to the door. "You've both been through a lot."

Harry and I both looked at him and nodded quickly, watching together as he exited the flat. When we returned out gaze to each other, a wave of guilt washed over me. Niall had a point. We had both been through a lot, and we couldn't ignore that.

Or could we?


	34. Us

Harry' POV

"You know we can't just avoid things forever," I said to Louis, who was currently nuzzled on my bare chest. He looked up at me with his big blue eyes. He looked so beautiful, so serene. I didn't want to upset him. 

But of course I had to. 

"Come on, Lou. Let's talk, baby," I cooed, pulling him up higher so he was situated next to me. My legs were still tingling a little from the sex and I bit my lip to repress how much I was craving round two. 

"I want to talk, Haz. I know we need to," Louis said, pulling the covers over our torsos. "I just don't know where to begin. There's so much to talk about."

"Well, why are you here?" I asked. It was a blunt question, but one that needed to be asked. I was going to be firm with Louis. As far gone as I was for him, I still wanted to know the truth. I didn't want my heart broken a second time. 

"I don't know," he said, shifting on my chest a little. I knew he was uncomfortable so I rolled him off my chest and positioned myself next to him so we were parallel. 

"You can tell me," I said with a smile, rubbing his shoulder. But suddenly, Louis looked so guilty, so broken. Like he had been cut by an invisible sword and was suddenly bleeding out, clear droplets of shame and fear soaking the bed sheets. 

"I... Well. I don't have an exact answer for you. But I got better. Mostly better, at least. I'm done with rehab and I honestly don't have a steady job and I don't know where I'm going but I know I want to be with you," he said, swallowing harshly. "If you want to that is. Based on what I saw with Niall, it seems like you've begun to move on...."

I nodded. Louis was telling me everything I wanted to hear. But somehow, it didn't make me happy in the way that I thought it would. Instead, I felt worse. More wounded, less whole. I had spent so much time building up my walls against Louis and his toxicity. Now, in one single visit, he had broken them all down, and it was just me and him, face to face. 

And all I wanted, more than anything was to just say "yes, I want that. let's be together." As I stroked his soft chestnut hair, I almost did say it, but I stopped myself. 

I deserved more than this. I deserved an apology. 

"Are you even sorry, though? For what you did?" I asked, locking eyes with him. He couldn't just come back here and reclaim our relationship.... the one he had destroyed just a few months earlier...

"I am sorry. I truly am sorry. I should have led with that, Haz," he said, defensively, moving a few inches away from me. He tugged the covers closer to his chest. It seemed the more nervous he got, the worse his body insecurities became. 

"You - you asked me what I was doing here in New York... I thought you meant where I want to live. Fuck. It came out wrong. But I came here to apologize, truly," Louis squeaked, the words flooding out like storm water. "I am so ashamed and embarrassed of what happened when you came to London. And honestly, it was almost entirely my disorder that caused it, but I take full responsibility. It's no excuse. You didn't deserve that -- any of it. All of my bitterness and coldness when you saved my god damn life. The silent car rides. Biting you. Fuck... Haz..."

He was crying now. Tears were becoming typical in our relationship, like sugar dust in candy shop. I wiped my nose, trying to hide back my own tears. I wanted to maintain my dignity. If only for a little...

"I am so sorry... I feel sick just thinking about what I did. And it was all recent. And I can't promise you that I've changed, but if you let me, I'll show you that I have. I want to show you-- I just. I swear, Harry. I love you so much and I would never want to hurt you. I hope you can accept my apology because, fuck, I've worked so hard to get here. It's been so hard...." he trailed off for second, looking off distantly as he recollected his thoughts. Perhaps he was imagining the horrible experiences of the rehab facility... the lack of control... the white washed rooms...

"My eating disorder and my depression over mum are no excuse for anything that I've done. To you or to my sisters... or to Zayn even.... I apologize to all of you, for all of it. And I know they say it's not my fault I got sick. It's not. But I am responsible for my actions, no matter how low I was, I always had a choice. And I always chose Ana, time and time again. I always chose starvation, I always chose emptiness. But today I'm not. Today I'm choosing you, Haz, if you will allow me too..." 

I was shaking now I was crying so hard. Louis was crying too, sniffling between words and sometimes slurring his speech. His apology had hit home in more ways than one, and now I was lying here thinking about the things I've done too. The times I've chosen Ana over Lou, over everything. 

And that's when I realized that neither of us are perfect. That we both have our flaws, our issues, our triggers. We are both broken people. But we will not always be broken. And maybe, just maybe we could help each other.... if we allowed each other to....

"Lou, fuck," I said, wiping my tears. "Thank you for apologizing, love. I'm sorry too. For things I did back then or even did now. It's not your fault you were sick. But I'm so glad you're choosing recovery now, that you're really doing it. I know how hard it is..."

I paused for a second, wondering if I actually wanted to get vulnerable with Louis right now. He looked at me, blue eyes fluttering, and inched in closer, wrapping his arms around my waist gently. Safe in his arms, I felt like maybe I did want to. 

"Honestly, Lou. I've been struggling... like a lot, since London. And I had to go back to seeing a nutritionist. And my therapist too. I nearly relapsed so many times. I don't know if I ever told you this, but the voice never really did go away. I just learned to overpower it. To control it," I explained, tears welling in the back of my eyes. "I can differentiate now. Between my voice and Ana's voice. Most days at least. But, honestly, seeing you sick... made me want to go back. I was so triggered... I know it's fucked up, but...." 

I started to cry again and Lou rubbed slow circles on my back with his thumb. "It makes perfect sense, babe. I didn't even realize I was triggering you, but I see it now. Even when we ate together, " he said slowly. "I'm so sorry." 

I shook my head, my soft curls hitting my neck silently. "It's okay. Not your fault. I just wanted to be more honest with you," I continued. I nestled my head into the crook of Lou's neck, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I could rely on him for help. That I could trust him, depend on him. And not the other way around.

"I want to be with you too, Haz. But I also want to make sure what we have is healthy this time around. We both have our issues, and if it turns toxic we can trigger each other. I want you to be happy, okay?" he whispered into my ear softly. "Just tell me what you want. When you're ready."

I nodded. As if I needed time to think about it. I already knew, and Lou knew too. I wasn't going to lose him again. I couldn't.... not this time. 

"Would you rather live in New York or California?" I asked him, nearly blushing over how silly the question sounded. 

Lou looked at me, puzzled, and I instantly began to regret it as a look of concern washed over his face. This whole location issue had been the whole reason we broke up in the first place. 

"You know," he finally said, a small smile sweeping his lips. "I've lived in New York for years. Perhaps I'll try Cali." 

I squeezed Lou into a big hug, tickling his neck and arms and tummy as he squirmed next to me. We were both giggling, but I could tell by his body language that he was a bit tense, not entirely comfortable enough with that kind of touch just yet. 

Pulling him back into my arms, I sighed and smiled. We weren't perfect. We still had a lot more to work on, a lot more to decide. But at least we knew how it was going to be -- the two of us, together.


	35. Details (Final Chapter)

Louis POV

 

*the final chapter*

"Are you nervous?" I asked Harry, laughing as I guided him into the apartment. His eyes were shut and I had one arm draped around his waist to help guide him. We had picked the flat together, just a couple of weeks ago, but Harry let me decorate everything and pick out all the furniture. It was a big responsibility, but I loved designing and organizing things -- or at least I used to. And it was the perfect excuse to get back into my old passions. Plus I got a ton of writing out of the whole experience -- like which brands of paint were best and which decorations were most affordable. Hopefully it would help land me a job for a West Coast magazine in the near future.

 

Now, as I stood with Harry in the apartment doorway, it finally dawned on me that we were actually moving in together—for the second time in our lives. And if I was being honest, it was something that made me almost excited as it did nervous. Harry and I had been sort of living out of my apartment for the past two months, and it had been rather effortless and delightful, but actually having our own place in California was entirely different, and honestly, going through yet another location change was rather frightening to me. 

But Harry assured me that he would be here for me with whatever I needed. That he would make sure I was safe and comfortable, taken care of. Of course he would. Because he was Harry. But I wanted to make sure Harry was taken care of too, which is why I had worked so hard on decorating the flat. 

"Okay, open!" I said giggling, admiring the paintings I had hung as we reached the foyer. I removed my arm from Harry's waist, and watched as he opened his eyes, the green orbs flashing quickly around the open space.

"This is incredible, Lou!" He said, looking around, his eyes widening with delight. The Tv room had a red, retro looking couch and a sleek clear coffee table to match, along with two powder pink arm chairs. To the right, the island kitchen was decorated with white finish, that I had picked out and added myself, and the the fridge had little photos and magnets on it from our trips and travels. Around the corner, I arranged some paintings, one of a sunflower and another of a street in London.

"Oh my gosh, you even kept this magnet I gave you from Florida?" Harry giggled, as he jogged around the kitchen looking at the decorations I had arranged. His long giraffe legs looked hilarious as they bounced around the tiny cream-colored kitchen, and I could just imagine him wearing the 'kiss the chef' apron I had bought him a few weeks ago as he whipped up his famous lemon pancakes or chicken pot pie. 

 

"Of course I kept it, love. Now, let's go to the bedroom, yeah?" I asked, tugging at his arm. That was the room I had worked the hardest on and I wanted Harry to see it so badly, I could hardly wait. 

"Trying to get in my pants, Tommo?" Harry quipped, sending me a sexy look. I bit my lip seductively. "Maybe," I laughed. Over the past few months, i have really been getting my personality back... my sassy, fun loving persona slowly overtaking the cold, bitter front I had put on to cope with mums death.

Chuckling, Harry jogged past me and headed down the corridor to the bedroom. I followed behind, admiring his bum as he scurried into the master suite.

"Oh. My. God," Harry squeaked as he walked into the room. Harry's favorite color was powder blue, and he had always begged me for a nautical theme room back when we were dating the first time around. I always said no because I thought it was too cheesy, and honestly, I wasn't the biggest fan of soft colors. 

 

But after all we've been through, the very least I could do was give my boyfriend his room style of choice. Honestly, as much as I hated it at first, it quickly began to grow on me as I started painting and making purchases. I had painted the walls a color called 'turbulent turquoise' which I found to be slightly more appealing than the powder blue, and got a bed-set of the same color... or as close as I could get to it. 

Inside of the room, I had gotten two white dressers, which I adorned with white seashells and tiny fish hooks, and on the walls, I hung white anchor decals and photo-framed paintings with sayings about the beach like 'gone fishing' and 'no better feeling than the sand between my toes!' and other sickeningly cheesy things of the sort. Of course I knew Harry would love it -- and he clearly did. He was currently running around the room freaking out over the seashells and the photos and the anchors. 

His favorite thing, however, was yet to come. 

"Haz, did you look in the closet?" I asked innocently. As if I didn't know he would soon be freaking out. 

Harry gave me a snarky look, furrowing his eyebrows and sticking out his tongue. "I'll get to it in a minute. Right now I'm admiring my 'gone fishing' sign. Oh my god Lou Bear you truly went all out!" he said, running up to me and throwing his arms around my shoulders. 

I hugged him back, breathing in the fresh scent of his cologne. His arms were firm and muscular-- even more so than before. We had actually been going to the gym together lately, as I recently got cleared for physical activity. I can only go three times a week for now, but I've seen a huge increase in my physical strength since I started recovery, and I was lifting more than I used to even before I fell ill. 

"I love you, Louis," Harry said, running his hands through my hair. He kissed my neck tenderly, and that's when I realized this very well might turn into an episode of me getting into Harry's pants. But no, not before he saw his surprise. 

"Babe, you're turning me on too much," I said softly, pulling away a little. As I was getting further along in my recovery, my body image was getting way better and our intimacy had really intensified. That's not to say I was 100%. I still had my bad days, I still had moments of feeling completely worthless and fat and disgusting. But I was learning to accept those feelings, to accept that it was going take time to feel comfortable in my skin. And that's what helped me push through even when I was feeling bad, and try to make the next day a better one. 

"That's the point," Harry said, nibbling on my ear. He knew that got me hard. 

"Haz, closet!" I said, nearly pushing him off of me. Harry crashed into the bed and looked at me, a hungry look in his eyes, which were now mostly pupil with just a tinge of green. 

"Fine!" he said, jumping up and down a bit and pretending to throw a tantrum. I laughed and crossed my arms, pointing to the closet. 

"No, but really babe. I love this. And I love you," he said, returning back to me and planting a kiss on my head. It was more platonic than romantic, but I was already riled up from the neck kisses, and I was craving more. 

"Thank you for doing all of this for me -- with me. I can't imagine being with anyone else, Lou. You're really so thoughtful, so perfect," Harry continued. 

"Thank you, love. I could say the same about you," I replied, trying to hide the blush that was now spreading across my cheeks. Laughing, Harry took my arm and led me over to the closet with him. 

"Alright, let's see what's inside--OHMIGOD!" Harry shrieked, his low voice somehow jumping three octaves and creating a little-girl scream. "You didn't!" 

Oh but I did. For years, Harry had been talking about wanting this creepy looking life-sized stuffed animal of a whale. According to him, it would be the icing on the cake to his nautical themed room. Never in a million years did I think I would be able to find one online, but lo and behold, a company from Switzerland actually designed marine-animal stuffed animals, and they only took two weeks to deliver. 

Harry was now on the ground, hugging the giant stuffed whale, and I couldn't help but take a photo of him. He looked so adorable with his curls falling every which way and his tongue wagging out of his mouth like a puppy as he carressed the whale. 

"No pictures! Get over here," he said, tugging at my shins. It was so warm in California now that I was able to wear shorts, which probably wouldn't have been possible a few months ago, but I was finally getting more confidence, and I quite liked the navy blue shorts Harry and I had picked out in New York. 

Harry tugged again and this time I fell, toppling onto him and the whale in a giant mess of stuffed animal and human limbs. 

"I fucking love you," Harry said, grabbing my jaw and kissing me tenderly. 

"Haz. I love you too. But we are not having sex on top of this whale..." I retorted. But who was I kidding. Harry was irresistible, and as long as we were together, I would do anything or go anywhere with him. 

After all, if we found our way back to each other after all these years, pushed through all these struggles, endured all these hardships, then we must be meant to be. Harry and I weren't perfect. We weren't invincible. But we were in love. We were a team. And we could get through anything. Together. 

 

-Fin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you thank you thank you so much for reading. This was a really hard story for me to finish and it was tough to organize and write at times, but I tried to make it as interesting as possible. My apologies that it took so long for them to truly get 'together.' But I think it turned out rather cute in the end? Hopefully I was able to bring some awareness to how prevalent and dangerous eating disorders can be, and how much strength it takes to push past them. I drew on personal experience, but of course my experience does not generalize to others' experience. Hopefully it did provide insight though and make for a meaningful and interesting story about Harry and Lou as they pushed through recovery. I hope you also liked the use of the 1st person. It eventually got very hard to upkeep, especially because they were both changing their mindsets so much throughout, but I hope I kept their personalities fairly consistent and used their thoughts to show you what was going on. So sorry that Zayn never reappeared, and that Liam didn't appear at all. I honestly overlooked the other boys at the start of the story as I was so invested in the Larry relationship, but I think there should have been more of them. Niall was quite easy to slip in as Harry's best mate, as the Narry friendship is so natural and seamless. But I've always found the Zouis relationship so complex, and I wasn't able to come up with a resolution for their fight. 

 

Thanks again for reading xoxoxox


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